Coveted
by Pluma Desatada
Summary: Loki had thought himself so clever when he applied to teach AP classes only. He would get to teach but his classes would be restricted to juniors and seniors, kids far from his preference. It worked like a charm for six years. Until the one thing he couldn't have predicted: a prodigy, sitting in the front row, shirt untucked, messy hair, tie nowhere to be seen. : : FROSTIRON : :
1. Monsters are people too

**********A/N: **In case you haven't worked it out yet, ******THIS FIC ****WILL** CONTAIN A SEXUAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN AN ADULT AND A MINOR. If it's not your cup of tea, I understand. Just press the back button. If you read this fic and then complain that it's "disgusting" or "sick" or whatever, I'll complain that you are an idiot for reading anyway. Fair warning.

* * *

**Coveted**

**by Pluma Desatada**

* * *

The kid is sucking on the end of his pen again, and it's driving Loki to distraction.

He sees the red lips purse as the kid thinks, works out the answer to the problem, and he can't look away. He's glad that he decided to let the students have today's lesson time to solve a few problems from the book; it lets him get away with staring like an idiot under the pretense of surveying the class. He's also ruing the moment it occurred to him, because it gives the kid leeway to do things other than look at Loki with rapturous attention. Things like suck on the end of his pen.

The kid lowers the pen to the paper and writes something, and Loki lets out the breath he's been holding; long and slow like blowing out a candle. An exhale between yoga poses. He really needs to take up yoga again, he decides as the kid writes; needs to work off the pent-up energy. The kid's brow furrows slightly, and Loki inhales in anticipation; thinks, '_Oh, there he goes again_.'

Sure enough, the kid catches the end of the pen with a limber pink tongue, and Loki can't breathe; he curls the tip around the bitten plastic before drawing it into his mouth, and Loki crosses his legs under the desk. He feels hot under the collar, aroused and ashamed. Smothered. Stifled. The classroom is an oven. He puts a finger between his neck and the noose around it and pulls until it comes just that tiny bit looser. He doesn't dare take the tie off and undo the top button, but he wants to. Oh, he wants to.

Sitting in his assigned desk, the kid traces his glistening lips with the pen, lost in thought. The sun falls on him through the window and makes his hair look like ganache. Loki has the irrational desire to trail his fingers through it and rub it between his fingertips.

He swears under his breath and swallows hard, turning his eyes away only though the conscious exertion of his will. His gaze is magnetized, however; is inexorably attracted to the same place no matter how much he pulls it away. Makes sense, as magnetic attraction is not affected by forces, only by distance. '_I need to get away_,' he thinks, and wonders if his class would complain too much if he moved the kid to the back.

Ah, but no. He can't do that, not to his best student. The kid is tiny still. His precious body is still small. Everyone else has already gone through puberty; he will be hidden from Loki, true, but he also won't be able to see the whiteboard. Loki will just have to work harder to scrub his sick desires from his mind.

Unsupervised, his eyes return to the forbidden sight.

The kid is nibbling on his pen now; all soft skin, white teeth and concentration.

Loki bites back a moan and squirms in his chair, cock hot and hard against his thigh. He looks down at his watch desperately.

Fifteen more minutes left.

Loki is twenty-eight. The kid is thirteen.

* * *

Loki's known all his life he has a _thing_. A problem. Something he can't get rid of. He knows what he is; he's done his research. It has a name and everything.

_Hebephile_, he thinks with a sneer. _Monster._

That's the label that he wears around his ankle like a ball and chain; that's the ghost that haunts his mind like tumbleweed whenever he's in the privacy of his home thinking of little Tony Stark with a hand down the front of his pants. He has daydreamed of holding grades hostage. Turned the notion around in his head late at night when he can't sleep over how disgusted he is with himself.

Says the Wikipedia, in clean, sharp, unbiased black type on a white background: "Hebephilia is the primary or exclusive adult sexual interest in pubescent individuals approximately eleven to fourteen years old."

Says Loki, curled up in a corner of his cold, cold shower, pulling on his hair: "Hebephilia is unnatural. I need shock therapy."

He shouldn't be allowed near kids. If the school knew, if anybody found out, he… He doesn't know what he would do. He should tell them. But he can't — teaching is his passion. He lives for the moments when understanding dawns in his kids' eyes, when they raise their hands and ask a question that is actually insightful, when the struggling student he's been helping finally manages to solve a question on their own.

And to think he'd thought himself so clever when he applied to teach AP classes only. He'd thought it the perfect solution. He would still get to teach, but his classes would be restricted to juniors and seniors, young men and women far from his preference. And he'd go to school really early and go home really late, he would hide in his classroom during empty hours, he wouldn't supervise any clubs; he'd stay away from the younger students.

But on the first day of school, when Loki entered the classroom where he'd teach AP Physics, he found the only flaw in his plan sitting in first row, shirt untucked, messy hair, tie nowhere to be seen. The one thing he couldn't have predicted: a prodigy.

'_It's only one school year,_' he'd told himself as he gathered his stoniest composure around him like armor.

'_Normal adults aren't attracted to every person that fits their preferred gender_,' he'd reminded himself as he introduced himself to the class of ten.

'_Just because he's in my desired age group doesn't mean I have to be attracted to him_,' he'd reassured himself as he watched the boy with the peach fuzz on his rosy cheeks and the hair that curled intimately around his little ears introduce himself.

'_It will be okay_,' he'd deluded himself as he heard the other introductions with half an ear.

To this day, he's still reeling from the blow.

* * *

Some days Loki wonders if Tony thinks he doesn't like him. It would be a pity, but better that than the alternative. Better that Tony believes himself to be hated than coveted by a teacher he trusts.

**T.B.C.**

* * *

**A.N.:** I currently have some 8 more chapters pre-written. I'll post the next one on Thursday. If I get 5 reviews, I'll post it even sooner. Remember: **THIS WILL FEATURE UNDERAGE SEX. I WILL NOT WARN AGAIN.**


	2. Heat of the moment

**Chapter One: In which Loki makes a terrible mistake**

* * *

Loki sits in his classroom alone at lunch. Before this year, he used to take lunch in the teacher's lounge, used to hear them wax poetic about their favorite students or complain about the ones they loathed, used to get to know the younger children of the school vicariously. Now he needs the solitude to wash off every thread of connection to humanity. He's a rock, he's a tree; he has no desires.

He carefully doesn't think about the boy's lips stained red with lollipops or his eyes that shine with foxy cunning. There is calculation in the way he lets every notion about the child small hands stained with dirt under the fingernails fade from his mind. When the tide of his thoughts brings back with it the sweet sound of a young voice calling his name, he studiously lets it wash away like footprints in the sand.

Then Loki hears the knock on his door and his head flies up from where it was resting on the table. Did he imagine that? "Yes?" he asks, feeling silly. He listens carefully.

"Mr. Olsen?" The voice — the very real voice — comes sweet as tea with milk and honey. "Are you there?"

Loki breaks into cold sweat. "I'm here," he replies. "A minute please." He does the knot of his tie quickly, though not deftly. His hands tremble as he runs his fingers through his hair and ties it back into a neat ponytail. He forces himself to breathe as he lays his hands palm down on the desk to conceal the tremors. "Come in, it's unlocked."

The door open, Tony's head poking inside. His eyes peer around curiously, as if expecting Loki to be doing something naughty. When they land on Loki, a sweet smile blooms on his porcelain face, like he's genuinely glad to see him. "Hi, Professor," he greets, opening the door wider. "I went to the teacher's lounge, but Mr. Rogers said you would be here."

A waft of air brings his smell to Loki's nose and makes him feel weak. Washing powder, pancakes, motor oil; a strange and compelling mixture. '_I should send him away,_' he thinks, but then his memory plays back the siren's song of his name in a young, unbroken voice. He says instead, "May I help you with anything?"

Tony nods emphatically and steps into the classroom, fearless. And why shouldn't he be? Why should he fear anything from Loki? "I need help with AP calculus." He looks down and worries his lower lip with his teeth.

Loki wants to kiss him. He licks his lips and bites his tongue. "Hmmm." He arches an eyebrow; his heart pounds in his chest. He pictures himself helping Tony, having his bright eyes focused only on him, waiting for direction. Pictures taking Tony's tiny hand in his own and directing it around the page as he murmurs theorems to him. Pictures Tony making a clever connection and murmuring back, small body leaning into Loki's warmth. He blinks the fantasy out of his mind and shakes his head minutely. "And can't you teacher help you?" he makes himself ask.

The boy shrugs and looks down. "Ms. Anderson is a bitch," he says dismissively. Then his eyes widen in alarm and he gapes at his own blunder. "Sorry," he amends, cringing as if Loki might chastise him. He shoots a glance at his professor and hurries to explain. "Ms. Anderson made it very clear in the first day of classes that I was not welcome. Not in her classroom and certainly not outside of it." He bites his lip and averts his eyes again.

Loki wants little more than to cup his delicate chin and reassure him that yes, Ms. Anderson _is_ a bitch. How can anyone say no to so precious a creature? How can anyone not derive only the purest of joys by having that clever mind hanging onto his or her every word? The sheer possibilities tantalize him. '_I won't touch him_,' he bargains; a prayer to deities he doesn't believe in. "Come in," he says, clenching his fist to hard that his fingernails dig into his palm. "I'll help you."

It is the right thing to say. The child _beams_ — the power of his smile takes Loki's breath away — and closes the door behind himself.

Loki's heart leaps to his throat. He's never allowed himself to be alone with the child behind closed doors, but now he burns with the desire to do just that. Just share space and knowledge with his favorite child in the whole school. _'You should have sent him away!_' he thinks, breathing heavily. With the door closed, the boy's smell is overpowering.

The sound of a chair scraping the tile floor makes Loki look up.

Tony is dragging a chair to Loki's desk. But he doesn't stop when he reaches it, oh no. No, he _continues_ all the way around, until the professor has to scoot over to make room for him.

Loki watches in horrified delight as the boy plops down on the chair, hardly daring to move or even breathe.

The boy is _sitting less than two feet away from Loki_, kicking his feet because his legs are too short to reach the floor. He hums as he rummages through his bag, then lets out a soft "_Aha!_" and pulls out a banged-up spiral notebook. He turns to Loki, grinning widely, and says something as he puts the notebook down on the desk.

Loki can't hear it — can't hear anything over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. He's simultaneously shivering and burning up, and only has enough wits left to hope that Tony won't notice the flush that is climbing up his neck. He has to swallow a couple of times before he's able to speak. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," he tells the boy with a hoarse voice.

Oblivious to the maelstrom of conflicting emotions currently roiling under Loki's skin, Tony flips open the notebook. "I said, I don't understand Barrow's rule." He points at the page, where sharp and indecipherable numbers, symbols and letters are tangled together like knotted string. "I mean, I know it works, duh," he rolled his eyes, "but I don't get _why_."

The chicken-scratch handwriting distracts Loki from his trance. Tony's only ever handed in tests and homework in painstakingly tidy handwriting. Either the boy doesn't really care much for calculus, or he works especially hard on physics. And considering the AP Calculus schedule says Tony should still be finishing up derivatives and not this far into integrals, it's obvious the boy enjoys math. Warmth that has nothing to do with arousal spreads inside Loki's belly. He smiles. "I'm curious. Why not read it in a book?" he asks, unable to help himself.

Tony looks stricken. He blinks a couple of times and then lowers his eyes to the notebook. "I—I could," he says, his tiny hand clenching briefly on the notebook before relaxing again. "If I'm bothering you." He clears his throat. "I could go to the library."

It doesn't sound like a question, but Loki guesses it is one. '_How cute_,' the though comes unbidden as he realizes that Tony sought _him_ out specifically, when he had a myriad other resources. As if he needed an excuse to come to see Loki. The arousal that's been a constant ever since he heard Tony's voice calling his name flares inside him, and he has to take a deep breath to tone it back down to a low background thrum. "You aren't bothering me at all, Mr. Stark," he confides in a murmur, too out of it to keep his tone of voice in check.

Thankfully, the boy is too inexperienced to pick up on the cue. He merely looks up and grins, his legs swinging happily. One of his cheeks dimples; Loki wants to run his knuckles along it. "Then you'll help me?"

Loki nods, carefully keeping his eyes on Tony's instead of on the way that his chocolate hair curls just enough to hug his tiny ear. He doesn't want the boy to realize he's staring. '_I should say no_,' he thinks; and then, for the nth time, '_I should send him away_.' He can't refuse the boy when he's looking up at Loki with those hopeful doe eyes. He sighs. "Yes, I'll help you."

The boy wiggles distractingly in his chair as Loki fishes out his glasses from his suitcase, puts them on shakily, and peruses his scribbles. Their knees brush together; Tony doesn't move away.

Indeed, it feels to Loki like he's pressing harder instead. Tony _did_ seek him out for no real reason. He could just as easily consult with books or the internet but he chose to come to Loki instead. He closed the door when he could have left it open. He dragged a chair until it was _right next_ to Loki. And now he's not moving away. The professor can put two and two together.

With a sharp intake of breath, Loki stills. His addled brain has jumped to a conclusion that cannot _possibly_ be true. He shakes his head and swallows. Thinks, '_I need a drink_.' His breath shakes as he raises a hand to tap at the page, right where it says _Q.E.D. _in the poorest penmanship he's ever had the misfortune to see. "You demonstrated the fundamental theorem of calculus all by yourself, I see." He's pleasantly surprised and it shows in his voice. He knew Tony was clever before this, but apparently he failed to grasp the full span of his mind. "Clever boy," he praises freely.

Said clever boy sits up straighter in his borrowed chair; there is a smug little smirk on his lips. The edges of his perfectly proportioned ears turn slightly pink as he glances at Loki out the corner of his eyes. "That one was obvious," he shrugs, making a show of self-deprecation. "Took a bit of algebraic gymnastics, but it was easy as pie."

Oh, Loki knows this game. "No, it wasn't, Mr. Stark," he smiles fondly, daring to nudge the kid— the kid who is sitting so close that Loki can smell what he had for breakfast — in his arm with an elbow. "Stop fishing for compliments."

Tony lets out a delighted peal of laughter, his cheeks reddening at getting caught. "Can you blame me, Professor?" he teases, nudging Loki back. "You never compliment me for anything, even when I get straight A-pluses," he rebukes, looking at Loki through theatrically narrowed eyes.

'_And there's a good reason for that_,' Loki reminds himself, sobering up. He can't show the boy how much he favors him. Can't let on just how much he loves it when Tony pays attention to him, watching him raptly as he takes notes with the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips. How much it feels some days like he's teaching Tony alone because the other kids are too busy being hormonal teenagers to pay attention to the lectures. "I had no idea you needed compliments," he says.

Blushing harder, the boy rubs the back of his head. "I don't." He smiles sheepishly, his eyes nearly closing. "But I like them." He pushes Loki's knee with his own, completely relaxed as he lowers his hand to his lap. He looks _happy_.

Loki's heart flutters; Tony's candidness disarms him. "Then I shall endeavor to compliment you more often," he murmurs through a soft smile, enjoying the unexpected intimacy.

The feeling of utter wrongness that has plagued Loki since the first time he saw the boy sucking on a lollipop abates. It isn't gone by any means, but it's not the paralyzing horror that it was ten minutes ago. He knows now — he's_ sure_ of it — that Tony will not turn him away if Loki tries to kiss him. Why else would he have come here — why else would he have behaved as he did — if he didn't reciprocate at least a small measure of Loki's affections?

Loki swallows hard and forces his eyes away from Tony's adorably open smile. "Let's demonstrate Barrow's rule, then," he says breathily, turning to find his the notebook. The entire side of his body that is facing Tony tingles pleasantly.

"Mm, let's!" Tony agrees, scooting his chair closer so they can both look at the notebook without having to strain. "How do I start?" He leans forward and grabs his pencil. It puts his head almost right under Loki's nose.

The professor can't help but breathe him in; the boy's shampoo has a floral scent. "By using the fundamental theorem as your hypothesis," he murmurs, his left hand resting lightly between Tony's shoulders. _'Just this much and I'll be happy,_' he tells himself. _'I won't touch him any more than this._' They are so close now that he can feel the boy breathing as he writes it down from memory. He wants to kiss Tony's hair, wants to taste the floral scent on his tongue.

"And now?" Tony asks when he finishes, turning his face. He taps the tip of his pencil impatiently on the page, making little graphite dots. His liquid brown eyes watch Loki, brimming with innocence and curiosity.

Their faces are close enough that Loki only needs to lean over about four inches to steal a kiss from his little red mouth. His cock twitches to life in his pants at the thought; he ignores it. Now is not the time to think with his dick. "You forgot the constant."

Tony wrinkles his nose and looks down. He twirls the pencil and puts the chewed end between his lips. "Wha' cons'an'?" he says around it, sounding more like a scolded child than an AP student.

Loki's hand twitches on Tony's upper back; this thumb begins stroking the lump of the spine under the skin. He breathes though his mouth so as not to get lost in Tony's boy scent. "The integral of _f_ of _x_, from _a_ to _x,_ is equal to _G_ of _x_ plus a constant," he explains. He can barely control his voice; it wavers slightly towards the end.

Tony takes the pen out of his mouth with a sound like a kiss. "Um, is that really necessary?" he protests, shifting under Loki's heavy touch.

Loki's eyes widen. Too much? He starts taking his hand away—

"I mean," Tony continues, ceasing his squirming, "none of the problems use the stupid constant. And Barrow's rule makes it unnecessary." He's settled even closer to Loki than he was before.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Loki relaxes his arm and dares to rub small circles into the boy's upper back. Nothing untoward there, right? "Usually, yes," he replies, feeling hot again, "but you can't demonstrate Barrow's rule by using Barrow's rule." He injects some humor into that to cover up his heavy breathing.

Tony is dubious, but he squeezes an untidy little "+_k"_ between "_G(x)_" and the equal-to sign. "Oookay…" He turns to Loki with an arched eyebrow. "What now?"

Loki's strokes get bolder. His hand creeps further down Tony's small back with each circle it makes. "Now find an expression for _G_ of _a_ in terms of _k._" Oh, how his crotch aches! He wants nothing more than to reach down and stroke himself. Or better yet, have Tony do it. He wonders if Tony's hand is big enough to close around his girth, or if he'd need both of them to make the circle…

Tony wiggles a bit in his seat as if Loki's touch tickles him. He speaks as he writes, "_G _of_ a_ is equal to the integral of _f_ between _a _and _a_, minus _k_." Then he pauses, frowns pensively, and crosses out the integral, writing a big fat zero over it. He shoots a quick sideways glance at Loki. It's impossible to tell if he's looking for reassurance or trying to divine Loki's intentions. "_G _of _a_ is… minus _k_," he observes.

"Good," Loki breathes, smiling mischievously, patting Tony's back. He can't wait until understanding dawns; it always looks so pretty on Tony's soft features. Concentrating on the math has helped calm his arousal. It's now a low heat pleasantly burning in his lap and under his belly. He is tipsy on the boy's presence, not drunk. "So _k_ is minus _G_ of _a. _What does the original integral look like now, mmm?"

The boy's eyes flit back and forth a couple of times between the hypothesis and what he just wrote. Suddenly, his eyes light up. "_Oh_," he gasps, and writes so quickly he nearly rips the page. "The integral between _a_ and _x _is _G_ of _x_ minus _G_ of _a_!" he exclaims excitedly. "And if I evaluate _x _in _b_…" His tongue pokes out as he scribbles in another tangle, neatness the farthest thing from his mind. "Then the integral between _a_ and _b _is _G_ of _b _minus _G_ of _a_. Q-E-D." He writes the last full stop with so much force that the pencil leaves graphite dust on the page and turns to grin proudly at his professor.

Grinning back, Loki feels the urge to pull the boy closer. "Clever boy," he praises, heart racing. His hand, so close now to the middle of Tony's small back, moves to hover over the curve of the boy's waist. He can feel warmth on his palm; he shivers in delight. '_This is good,_' he thinks, enraptured by the closeness, and he can't remember why he ever thought that avoiding Tony was a good idea.

His fingers twitch of their own accord, curling under Tony's ribs.

The boy sits up straighter, tense. He blinks a couple times; his eyes go to where Loki's hand is touching him, but abort the motion midway and return to the page. He squirms a bit, but says nothing.

'_He doesn't mind_?' Loki thinks. Then, triumphantly, '_He doesn't mind_!' He lets his hand curl a little tighter; his palm is now actually hugging the boy's waist. He hopes Tony won't look down and find the semi-hard cock bulging out his crotch. Crosses his legs just in case. "Anything else you had trouble with?" his asks huskily, his breath warming the boy's face.

Tony's wide-eyed expression turns terrified, his pupils just tiny pin-pricks of darkness in his now cold brown eyes.

All at once Loki realizes what he's doing; his blood turns to ice in his veins. The boy came to Loki for help because he trusts and respects him, and how does Loki repay him? By rubbing his greedy paws all over his innocent body! Appalled at his own actions, Loki snatches his hand back, apology ready on his tongue.

Tony stands up abruptly, sending the chair crashing down. His face is pale and he won't look up from the floor. He grabs his still open bag; quickly, as if Loki might hold it hostage.

Loki stands up as well; his heart hammers in his chest for entirely different reasons than before. He starts speaking, "Tony," but his voice catches in the thick dry knot in his throat. It's not like he knows what he'd say if he could speak, anyway.

The boy hugs his bag to his chest as a shield. "I have to go," he mumbles, still not meeting Loki's eyes or indeed looking at him at all.

He turns around and flees; not quite running, but walking as fast as he can.

Loki just stands there watching him go. Should he go after him and try to explain himself? No. There are no excuses for what he just did. And pursuing the boy will only frighten him needlessly. The shaking gets so bad that he has to sit back down. A belated "I'm sorry," escapes his lips in a nearly soundless whisper, followed by a tremulous sob.

He snorts. Then he chuckles. Then he laughs, covering his mouth with a hand so the people in the corridor won't hear. His other hand grips his hair. His chest hurts; he can't breathe right, but he can't seem to stop laughing. He bends until his forehead touches the notebook left behind by the child he just molested.

Hebephile_, _indeed.

A monster by any other name is still a monster.

* * *

The bell rings and Loki is still sitting there, bereft.

He's been contemplating his ruined career and Tony's ruined life in endless cycles.

He doesn't want Tony to call the police on him — God, what will Loki's mother say when she finds out? — but he knows it's the only way. He isn't strong enough to stay away on his own; prison will help. Four concrete walls and heavy duty will keep his perversion at bay; keep him far from innocent boys and girls whose lives he will otherwise destroy. He dreads the moment when they'll come to take him, but at the same time he is glad. Tony _will_ get justice. He will be scarred for life — molested by a teacher, oh God — but at least he'll have the satisfaction of seeing Loki behind bars where he belongs.

A student comes in, sees Loki staring at his lap, and does a double take. "Uh, Mr. Olsen," she says casually. "Are you teaching chemistry today? Did something happen to Mr. Banner?"

Loki looks up from his hands — his dirty, dirty hands — and meets her eyes. Disconnected from everything as he is, it takes him a second to place her. He has her in his regular physics course; a junior, then, and too old to invoke in him the sort of feelings Tony does. Good. "Not that I know of, Miss Chapman," he croaks.

The girl is looking at him strangely. "Are you okay, Professor?"

What does she mean? Oh, right — Loki just had a nervous breakdown. He must look it, too: his hair is probably disheveled; his face, a mess of dried tears and snot. He clears his throat. "I'm well, thanks for asking." He looks down again.

On the desk lies Tony's notebook, forgotten in its owner's hurry. The scribbles — especially the ones that are neat _just_ for Loki — taunt him from the page spotted with drying teardrops.

He gets up clumsily, almost taking the chair with him like Tony did not half an hour ago. He needs to take this notebook to the lost-and-found before the cops come, so Tony will find it easily and without needing to see Loki ever again.

Bruce Banner comes into the classroom as Loki is putting his glasses away. "Loki?" he asks, confused.

Life goes on. The world that lies shattered at his feet is only his own.

Loki clips his briefcase shut and grabs his coat, folding it over his arm. "Bruce, hello," he says, managing a normal-sounding voice. He hesitates before taking the notebook; his hand hovers two inches above it as if it has its own Loki-repelling field. Maybe he can leave it here and tell his colleague to take it to the lost-and-found…? No. Loki caused this problem; he must therefore be the one to solve it.

Bruce approaches him. His body casts over the notebook a shadow incongruously big and dark. "Loki? Are you feeling okay?"

The damage is already done, anyway. Touching the notebook means little in comparison to his earlier profanation of its owner's body.

'_Really_,' Loki realizes, '_prison in the only way_.' He will finally be able to relax his guard. No more keeping his thoughts and hands in check at all times if there are no pubescent children around to spark his fire. He meets Bruce's gaze and smiles. "I'm feeling great, actually," he says softly, finally at peace with his luck. "I'll be going now." He grabs the notebook and turns the cover so it's closed. "Sorry for the delay."

"It's… no problem," Bruce says faintly. There's a barely-there line between his eyebrows.

Loki is past caring. He nods his goodbyes to them and steps out of the classroom. Maybe he should have lingered — who knows if he'll get the chance to exchange proper farewells with his favorite colleague — but he wants to use what little time he yet has to put his affairs in order.

He leaves the notebook in the front desk with a note telling the secretary that it belongs to Tony Stark.

That done, he gets into his car and drives home. The radio is off, but for some reason he can still hear white noise all around him. He nearly runs over an old lady walking her dog, only managing not to because the woman has better reflexes than him. As he zooms part her expletives, he thinks, '_Manslaughter on top of molestation, that'd be funny_,' and laughs so hard he almost misses a turn.

When he gets home, his hands are shaking so badly he fears he might scratch the car paint trying to get it into the garage. He decides to leave it outside. It's not like he'll need it soon, anyway; the next car he'll ride is a police cruiser. It's okay if it frosts over.

He goes straight to the living room and plops down on his couch with his briefcase. The house is cold, but he doesn't dare turn on the heating. Knowing his luck, the cops arrest him and leave it on, and then he'll have to pay a ridiculously expensive gas bill on top of going to prison.

The sun falls, early as the winter sun is wont to do. Loki sits in the dark. Why bother turning on the lights? He discovers he's hungry, which in retrospect makes sense because he was too busy sexually assaulting a child to eat lunch. The thought makes him laugh, again, and it takes him a good deal longer to calm down. After he gets a grip on himself, he considers the possibility of cooking some dinner and dismisses it as stupid. Who knows when the cops will come? Maybe he won't get to eat it, and it will spoil. Worse, what if they come for him while he's cooking and don't turn off the stove? No one will want to rent the house if it catches on fire, and he's already caused enough trouble by giving into his body's monstrous demands.

Hungry, cold and terrified, Loki waits in the dark for the nightmare to end.

And waits.

And waits.

**T.B.C.**


	3. Hanging

**Chapter Two: In which Loki feels like a cog with a missing tooth in the great machinery of the universe.**

* * *

Dawn comes. The cops don't.

Loki is still sitting on his couch. He's been to the bathroom once, and also to the kitchen to get a glass of water, but other than that he hasn't moved. When the first lights start greying the horizon, he gets up, showers, and gets dressed in fresh clothes.

'_Maybe cops don't come right away_,' he reasons as he blows his hair dry. It strikes him as strange, however, or else incredibly inefficient. They've given him enough time to rape another child or disappear. '_I could have fled_,' he realizes as he braids his hair. '_Gone away to look for jobs in other states._' Pity he was in too great shock to think of that earlier—no. It's a _good thing_. It's the only way. He must not flee.

Yet he spends far too long lost in thought as he washes the pan and the plate he used for breakfast.

To go, or not to go? Should he stay home and wait for the police to come pick him up? Or should he go to work? He knows how hard it is to find a substitute on such short notice; he really ought not to inconvenience the school for his own failings. But if they come for him, everyone will see his disgrace. Everyone will _know _what he is and the school's reputation will be ruined… Then again, maybe that's better in the long run. He'll be sorry for the school, sure, but also relieved that people will know the monster he's been working to hide under his friendly neighborhood teacher façade and know not to approach him.

The way the water circles around the drain in a futile attempt to escape it is mesmerizing. Good thing he has until half past nine to ruminate.

* * *

Ultimately, he decides to go. It feels much like cutting open an infected wound to let the canker out.

Starting his car takes him a great deal of patience and time. He knows he shouldn't have left it sitting out in the freezing cold all night, but he can't really bring himself to care. Some of the streets have frozen over, so he drives carefully. By the time he arrives at the school, the third period has already begun and the hallways are empty of students. It's just as planned: no temptations walking around and testing his rapidly unraveling restraint.

But once he's set foot inside he can't take another step; he's rooted to the door with the sudden and overwhelming desire to just _wake up_ from this nightmare.

_'Why am I here_?' he thinks, feeling like his lungs aren't big enough for his body. What _on Earth_ did he come to school for?! '_Should have called in sick_!' he wails internally, blood rushing in his ears. Surely being in the middle of a nervous breakdown disqualifies him from teaching, right? He imagines, in vivid detail, turning around, running away, and calling in sick from the safety of his car. He gets ready to do it, too.

At the last moment, however, he recalls _Tony_. Coward though he is, _burns_ to see him, like a criminal itching to return to the scene of his crime.

(A part of him can't wait to see their face when the cops come to arrest him.)

Loki takes a very shaky breath to steady himself and goes to his classroom before he can chicken out. Upon entering, he finds his students chatting amiably in groups, only one or two of them in their assigned spots. He mumbles some half-true excuse about iced roads to his students, not really caring if they buy it or not.

They startle upon seeing him and, like a flock of sheep, return to their seats. Entropy decreases; the students are particles of a substance going from gaseous to solid.

But there is one glaring hole in that otherwise perfect crystalline structure, one Loki can only see when the taller kids sit down: Tony is not among them. Obviously, he skipped class to avoid confronting Loki.

Loki doesn't know how he feels about that.

Maybe it means Tony called the cops and they'll be coming for him soon?

…To be honest, he doesn't know how he feels about that, either.

* * *

No one comes to for him. Not the cops, not the headmistress, not Tony's parents.

Loki was _so_ sure someone would do something. Anyone. He was counting on it, really. It gave him peace of mind: he was busted, no need to hide anymore… right?

The emptiness of the unmet expectations leaves him reeling, adrift like an untethered boat in a storm.

'_No matter,_' he tells himself on the drive home, '_surely they will come. Late, but they will._' He wonders what the delay is about as he waits on the couch again. This time he has the foresight to take his students' homework with him to mark.

When he's done, he briefly ponders the possibility of Skyping with his brother and telling him about the recent developments in his life, but ultimately decides not to. It's not like Thor can do anything from Afghanistan, so he'll just call Thor when he's arrested and save his brother the anxiety Loki is currently experiencing.

Instead, he makes and eats dinner while he devises the problems he'll put in the tests he's taking next week. This takes him longer than usual.

He can't stop thinking about the time the police will finally come for him. He pictures the scenario a dozen times; imagines every potential epithet they may call him in an effort to fortify himself against it. He wonders if the concerned parents that will come to picket his house will cheer when he's arrested. He hopes they'll handcuff his hands at the front instead of behind his back. In movies and TV shows always looks like being handcuffed with the hands behind the back hurts.

At eight in the evening, Loki goes to bed with a sci-fi novel. He's reading the third page of the night when he hears a police siren. His heart stops and he cowers where he is. He wonders, terrified, if they've finally come for him. But the siren fades, the patrol car obviously headed elsewhere. The adrenaline fades, leaving him shaking like a leaf in a storm and unable to focus on the writing, let alone follow the plot.

He can't stand this. The uncertainty. The not knowing. The thinking that ever moment of stolen freedom might be his last.

Bitter tears burn his eyes. He throws the book at the wall and screams. When he's able to breathe again without sobbing, he turns off the light and tries to sleep. But his mind keeps taunting him with images of himself being arrested, of the hatred in the policemen's cold merciless eyes, of Tony in the witness stand pointing at him in front of an angry jury.

Suddenly, Loki wonders if Tony will come to class tomorrow; wonders if he'll have to be in the same room as the child he ravished and withstand his betrayed doe eyes.

He turns his head and groans into his pillow and wonders, unbidden, if he should just turn himself in and end this torture.

* * *

Loki wakes about an hour before his alarm is due and can't get back to sleep. He goes through the motions of his morning ablutions without putting much thought into them, then goes to the kitchen and puts a full pot of coffee to percolate.

He doesn't need to be at the school for another good three hours, so instead he takes his mug of coffee to his study and turns on the computer. He types up the problems for the test he's taking next Friday as he drinks it. He kills some time and a second mug by drawing the figures for the test in MS Paint, resolving to think only of the now rather than the inevitable arrest looming in his future.

He fails: he drinks the third mug of coffee while reading horrible, horrible testimonies of arrested pedophiles. Nightmare fuel, all of them. Now he kinda hopes the authorities will chemically castrate him instead of giving him time; he shudders to think of what his fellow inmates will do to him. And he will be put in the sex offender registry, forever unable to get another job unless he does something else. '_No_,' he thinks, shaking his head, '_I deserve it for being unable to control myself._'

By then, his stomach is so cramped up that he can't finish the mug. It lies on his desk, forgotten as he runs to the bathroom in a sudden urge to shit.

As he sits on the toilet feeling like his intestines have turned to water and are now gushing out of his body, he discovers he put his boxers on backwards. Further investigation reveals that his socks don't match. He lays his face in his hands and takes deep, calming breaths.

He needs to get a grip.

Now, if only the world would stop turning to quicksand every time he gains a foothold…

* * *

When Loki walks into his classroom, Tony isn't there.

He can't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Immediately afterwards, he feels terribly selfish: the boy is so distraught after Loki molested him that he is skipping class… or maybe school outright.

At lunch he checks with the head office to make sure.

Christine, the secretary, looks at him askance, pops her gum and tells him, "You look… pale." She chews pensively and lets her eyes rove over his body, noticing — it seems to Loki — everything out of the ordinary. "Is everything alright?"

Loki waves her concerns aside as politely as he can and asks to see the attendance records. He discovers that Tony _has_ been coming to school, after all; it's only Loki's class that he's not attending.

Just as he feared, then. He shivers at the thought of having driven Tony such measures.

He remembers how much Tony loves — loved? — physics, how his eyes light up at every challenging question, how he nods animatedly whenever Loki explains a new equation, how his words trip over each other on the way out of his mouth when he speaks of things read in scientific journals… Will those things happen again? He doesn't even want to imagine what calculus must be like for Tony, now that he's ruined it for him.

One slip — one tiny slip in holding down the lid on the pot of caustic _muck_ that are his desires — and he's poisoned everything Tony's ever loved.

"Loki?" the secretary asks, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You look sick."

'_That's because I _am,' Loki thinks. His throat burns bitterly, but he forces himself to say, "I think I'm coming down with something, yes," with a smile. He can't help but shift away from her hand, though. He doesn't want to be touched right now; he might break into tears.

"Do you want to go home?" Christine looks concerned, but she's fluttering her eyelashes too much for it to be purely altruistic. "I can cover for you."

Actually, that sounds wonderful. Loki's pale smile turns genuine. "I would appreciate that. I was planning on having them do problems from the book. Here." He grabs a piece of paper from his briefcase and a pen from the desk, and pulls out the book. Within five minutes, he's selected five problems and written them down. "That will keep them occupied."

She titters, taking the paper with coquettish flair. "I can take chicken soup to your house tonight, if you want?"

Loki can't answer at first; he's too busy trying not to show his dark amusement. '_Save your petty flirtations,' _he thinks. '_Your apparent age falls outside the range of preference of my chronophilia._' His lips twitch. But he composes himself and replies, "Thanks, I'm good. I'll just take some Ibuprofen."

Christine takes the rejection well. "Okay. Hope you get better soon." She returns to her chair, list of problems for Loki's class in her hand.

"I'll try." Loki puts his coat on, waves goodbye at her, and leaves.

He doesn't tell her that the only cure for his illness is the sequential intravenous injections of sodium thiopental, Pavulon and potassium chloride.

* * *

The weekend is one long nightmare.

Loki can't eat. He can barely sleep. There is no book or TV show that can hold his attention for more than a few seconds. At one point, he begins drafting his confession, but the words don't come out right. He balls the page up and starts again, only to recall that he hasn't washed the dishes yet. While he's washing the mug he used for breakfast, he notices mold on the lines between the tile and decides to clean it.

This goes on and on. His hours are littered with unfinished tasks.

On Sunday night, he videochats with Thor.

The desert sun has tanned his foster brother's skin to a warm rich brown and bleached his hair to a pale golden color. There's sweat stains under his arms and untidy stubble on his face, yet his smile and his voice are as welcoming as ever. Like coming home. That's the one advantage of Thor having joined the military: they are apart so long that his boisterousness is comforting rather than grating.

Thor expounds about his 'pack' — the soldiers he gets to order around, that is — and complain about everything from the sun to the sand to the cold nights to Volstagg who won't stop showing them pictures of his children and Fandral who won't stop flirting with the female soldiers no matter how many times he's told he isn't wanted. He gesticulates wildly and smiles, and sometimes when he gets lost in retelling a story he looks lost, but Loki always pulls him back to the present.

Seeing him and talking to him feels a lot like chicken soup. It soothes Loki's soul like a balm he hadn't known he needed. At least until he asks when Thor will be arriving and tells him he already made the bed with Thor's favorite sheets.

Thor freezes and rubs the back of his head. "Sorry, Brother," he murmurs, looking down, "I forgot to tell you. I won't be coming home these holidays."

Loki's heart drops to the bottom of his stomach. "Oh." His face crumples. He'd been looking forward to Thor's return, to finally having someone be there for him, hold him, tell him everything would be alright. "Okay." He swallows hard.

Apparently he looks very pathetic, because Thor, who is normally oblivious to body language, frowns worriedly. "Brother, are you alright?" he asks, all imploring big blue eyes.

A sob escapes Loki, and his eyes start watering. He hides his face in his hands and tries to compose himself, but he only succeeds in making himself tremble. "No," he whispers shakily and inhales in a huge wet sob. "I fucked up, Thor. _I fucked up._" He raises his head to look at the screen, unwilling to let his shame beat him.

Thor's face is unreadable. "Loki." His voice is hard and unyielding. "What did you do?" He's probably already guessed what Loki did; he's known about Loki's perversions for years, ever since Loki drunkenly confessed them to him. That time, he held Loki until he stopped crying and, the next day, made him swear to never act on them _ever_, to come to him instead.

Loki has used that understanding and love as a rock for years: every time he had a bad thought or idea, he would think of Thor and how much he'd hate Loki if he acted on them.

There is no understanding in Thor's face now.

Loki looks down again. "I—I touched—" his voice catches in his throat. He blinks the collected tears away. "My student. The genius one," he finishes in a strangled whisper, roughly wiping his cheeks dry.

"Breathe, Loki," Thor barks, much as he would at one of his errant pups.

Only now noticing that he is hyperventilating, Loki takes in a huge gulp of breath and lets it out in several bumpy exhales. He holds Thor's cold, cold, cold eyes in the screen, using them as anchor.

"The boy you always talk about?" Thor demands. His intensity makes his eyes glow, or maybe it's just the light of his computer screen reflected in them. He looks like a vengeful angel. "Tony this, Tony that — that boy?"

Loki nods eagerly. "Him, yes. On—on his back." He tries to pace his breathing but hiccups instead. He covers his mouth. It's disgraceful that Thor is seeing him like this, but it needs to be done. How can he be expected to give testimony in front of a jury if he can't confess this to the brother who loves him despite his perversion? He clenches his eyes shut, thinks, '_Like ripping off a band aid_,' and forces himself to continue. "And his waist." He opens his eyes. "Thor, he _knows_." He bites his lip, waiting for Thor's verdict.

And instead of yelling at him or disowning him, Thor rolls his eyes. "Of course he knows. You always say he's the cleverest student you've ever had." He gives Loki a forced smile. "When?"

Loki manages to get control of his sniveling. Damn his frayed nerves! If Thor is smiling at him, however artificial the expression, not all is lost. Right? "Um." He has to make a real effort to recall. "Wednesday," he says, but his voice tilts up at the last syllable, making him sound like a student who isn't sure of an answer. It seems so much longer… Loki could swear it happened a month ago, that's how long it feels. "He hasn't told on me yet and I don't know why."

"Loki. Brother. You're blowing things out of proportion." Thor's voice turns soothing. It wraps around Loki like a hug.

Loki shakes his head. "You didn't see him, Thor," he mutters, wringing the hem of his shirt and worrying his lip. He sniffles and then sucks in a huge sob of air. "I'm going to jail for this, Thor," he cries into the desk, bowed forward.

Thor, the _asshole_, has the gall to chuckle at him. "Brother, you're not going to prison for putting a vaguely inappropriate hand on a student." He sounds both amused and relieved. "Your teaching license will be revoked, sure, and you'll get put in the sex-offender register, but you can stop worrying about looking good in orange overalls and finding a prison husband." He gives Loki a shit-eating grin.

Loki lifts his blotched face to glare at the camera, but it only makes Thor break out into guffaws and accuse Loki of overreacting. Loki growls and accuses him, in turn, of being an optimistic moron. They argue back and forth a bit longer. Thor takes the opportunity to bring up the time Loki ran away from home upon discovering he was adopted; Loki retorts by reminding Thor of the time he brazenly wandered into a bad neighborhood looking for a fight and got a knife in the gut for his efforts.

When the conversation ends, Loki feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. If Thor can forgive him, maybe it's really not so bad after all. Maybe he _was_, like Thor said, drowning in a glass of water.

He sleeps soundly that night.

* * *

Tony has a new notebook.

That's the first thing Loki notices upon entering his classroom on Monday. His eyes home in on the fire-truck-red cover as the boy quickly closes it and puts it away. Then he notices that Tony is no longer sitting in the front row. Lastly, he notices Tony is pale and tense and looking determinedly away from him, like Loki's mere presence is tormenting him. Poor sweetheart.

Loki drops his eyes from the boy. He will not aggravate Tony's feelings by staring at him like the creep he is. He flips through the pages of the textbook instead, hunting for interesting problems for his kids to solve. He has already finished teaching the curriculum for this semester and the test is on Friday, right before the start of the winter break, so it makes no sense to begin a new chapter right now. Making his kids practice for the test is the best choice.

He selects problems similar to the ones he'll be putting on the test and makes the kids take turns coming forward to solve them on the whiteboard. He keeps the shy ones and Tony well away from the spotlight — he's a monster, but that doesn't mean he's needlessly _cruel_ — and calls out advice when it's solicited. Overall, it's very relaxed and even fun, perfect for a Monday in the last week of classes.

By the time the class ends, Tony's practically hiding under his desk. He still looks pale and drawn, and right now he is downright jittery, like a rabbit just about to bolt.

Loki notices the bags under his eyes for the first time. He hopes his own don't look as bad, and then he forces himself to hope for the opposite: that Tony is losing less sleep than him. How is it that he keeps torturing the boy even when all he does is stay away? They really need to talk. Loki has to apologize, and tell him that his notebook in a place where he can retrieve it safely, and ask him why he hasn't called the cops. Maybe also convince him to do it.

The students are packing, getting ready to leave for their next class. Tony stands up and makes for the door, head bowed and shoulders hunched.

'_This is my last chance,_' Loki thinks desperately. If he misses this, he won't be able to talk to the boy again until Wednesday. "Mr. Stark—"

The boy freezes in mid-step, flinching.

"—could you stay behind?" Loki asks, his pulse in his throat.

Tony ducks his head further. Suddenly he explodes into action, almost slipping on the linoleum as he runs off. In less than the blink of an eye, disappears into the throng of students in the hallway.

Loki sighs and drops his head on the desk. He feels like yelling but he can't do it right now. He smacks the table instead, until his hand hurts. His eyes and the back of his throat burn something fierce.

'_When will this end?_'

* * *

Cops don't still come for him.

But nightmares do.

They are different than then ones he had last week of being tried, found guilty, and thrown in jail. He would pay to have those back, actually, for the current ones leave him worse than simply scared. Ever since he talked with Thor, he dreams that he never stopped touching Tony. He wakes panting, his cock aching between his legs from where his dream-self had thrust violently into the boy, his hands still tingling with the imagined feeling of Tony's mouth as he clamped it shut to muffle his screams. His stomach churns in revulsion every time he remembers.

The first time it happened, he was completely unprepared for it; the image of Tony's small body broken and bloody on his lap seared itself into his mind like a brand. He didn't reach the bathroom that time; he was in the hallway when he started puking. Then he spent a good forty minutes crying under a cold shower, washing his hands over and over until the skin was pink and shiny.

The subsequent nightmares aren't as bad as that one, but they still leave him unable to return to sleep or eat afterwards. He still needs to take long showers to wash their taint away.

It's as if his mind is rebelling against the notion that he may get off scot-free and instead decided vigilantism was the way to go.

Also, the paranoia gets worse with every day. Every time he blinks, he sees dirty iron bars closing in front of his face.

He jumps at every phone ringing, every police siren; hell, he startles every time someone calls his name. On Wednesday, when the Headmistress asks him to meet her _about a student_, he very nearly has a heart attack, practically tasting the guillotine hovering over his neck, but it turns out to be just something about a kid — not Tony — needing extra tutoring.

Somehow, Loki manages to survive until Friday. Last day of school for what's left of the year; he's looking forward to finally being able to stay home and gather his scattered wits.

He almost forgets to print out the tests. In fact, he only remembers because he set a remainder on his phone.

Tony is there, thank God. Loki doesn't relish the idea of making him sit a make-up test with just the two of them in the room. Not after what happened the last time.

They studiously ignore each other by tacit agreement. Or rather, Tony studiously ignores Loki, keeping his head always down as he scribbles untidy answers as fast as he can, while Loki looks around the room, his eyes returning to the boy every now and then.

A part of him, the one he likes to pretend doesn't exist, can't help but notice Tony's small hands as they grip the pen with precision or itch to wipe that smudge of ink on his chin with his thumb. It can't help but want to card his fingers through that untidy mop of chocolate tresses and kiss the red spots of concentration forming on his cheeks. The rest of Loki, however, is more concerned with the dark bags under the boy's eyes, with his sallow skin, with the way he freezes and flinches every time Loki walks by his desk.

Tony is the first to finish. The second Loki starts another round of checking his students for cheating, he gathers his things, grabs the test, slap it down on the desk and run off, not even waiting to put his coat on.

Loki says nothing. What could he have said? Before, he might have wished the child a merry Christmas, or to have fun in his holidays, but under the circumstances it's better not to press his attentions on him. When he returns to his desk, he picks up Tony's paper and starts grading it. He is dismayed to find perfectly round wet spots here and there — tears, obviously.

_'Oh, dear_,' he thinks, utterly distraught. Just having to be in the same room as Loki drives Tony to panicked tears. Loki will never be able to atone for this.

* * *

It's only after dinner — when Loki decides to get an early start in grading the tests in case he gets arrested during the winter holidays — that he notices he didn't bring said tests home.

He has been so scatterbrained lately that he doesn't actually recall where he left them. He searches the car, hoping with all his might they are there, but no luck. Groaning, he picks up his phone and calls the janitor.

Frigga's advice of making friends with the janitorial staff, which Loki's been following religiously for the past six years, finally pays dividends: Sam is willing to lend him the keys as long as Loki is the one to fetch them and then deliver them back before the break was over.

It's started sleeting outside, so Loki puts on his coat and grabs a pair of gloves and an umbrella before getting into his car. The roads are still good to travel on, so he makes good time to his favorite bakery, where he buys some marzipan cookies for Sam's girl, and then arrives at his house shortly after.

The janitor teases him amiably for being so air-headed ("Maybe it's 'cause you're so pretty, I bet your siblings got the brains!") but relinquishes the keys easily enough. When Loki hands him the cookies, he grins widely and excitedly calls his daughter to the door, sounding more like Santa came early. He makes her thank Loki.

Kiera is very sweet — and more importantly young enough to fall short of the lower end of Loki's preference spectrum. He is very thankful for this fact when she throws herself at him, climbs him like a tree and plants a kiss a bit too close to his mouth. Loki accepts the gratitude with equanimity but puts her down as soon as he possibly can without looking bad.

He says his goodbyes and gets back into his car. He pats his crotch, finds his cock placidly limp, and leans back with a sigh. He lives in fear of the moment when his twisted psyche will start finding _actual_ children sexually desirable. Taking a deep breath, he starts the car and then drives to school.

By the time he gets there, the falling sleet has turned into snow. A layer has already formed on the concrete sidewalk and stairs, and he amuses himself with the _crtich critch_ it makes under his feet.

The school looks very strange right now, dark and deserted; feels like a graveyard on a weekday. The building is imposing, which he likes.

Suddenly, something moves in a corner at the top of the stairs.

Loki freezes. He peers again; makes out a distinct bulge-like shape of what looks like fabric. Has a hobo taking residence under the dubious shelter of the school's front doors? So soon? He decides to test his luck and approaches cautiously.

His footsteps echo off the building's wall, and the bulge stirs. A tiny head pokes up from the top, covered in a woolly hat, to look at him.

Loki gasps and accidentally swallows a snowflake. His throat closes up. "_Tony_?" he wheezes, eyebrows shooting up.


	4. Atonement

**Chapter Three: In which Loki finally gets a chance to explain.**

* * *

The lump in the corner — no. The _boy _in the corner lets out a startled scream and scrambles backwards into the building.

It calls to the teacher in Loki, this sight of a child in distress, and he reacts without even thinking. Wanting nothing more than to gather him into his arms and protect him from whatever has upset him, he takes a step towards Tony.

"Stay away from me, you pervert!" the boy yells shrilly. There's a sudden movement of his arm, hard to see in the shadows that hide him, and something sails through the air towards Loki.

It misses by a good meter, rolling to a stop far enough away that it's obvious that Tony hurled it with all his might. It's a tennis shoe; the laces are tied.

Loki stops and raises his hands to signal his surrender. The message couldn't have been clearer: it's _Loki_ that's distressing him, not the cold or the apparent homelessness. The first conversation he manages to have with his victim and he can't find anything to say. Typical.

"Go away!" The boy's shouted words take the form of rapidly vanishing white clouds. "Leave me alone!" His voice sounds rough; maybe it's because he's screaming, but Loki thinks it's because he's been crying.

Loki bites his lip. He wants to apologize but he knows it would be selfish in the extreme. He's already done something terrible; he has no right to press his remorse on Tony. He shivers a bit in the cold. "I'd love to." Oh. His teeth are chattering. How cold is it? "But I forgot something inside and I need to go in." His fingers are starting to tingle; soon they'll be going numb. "Would you let me through?"

The boy's staring at him. His nose, Loki notices, is red from the cold — no, wait, not staring. Glaring. He's glaring at Loki, huddling under what the teacher now notices is a heavy blanket. He blows hot air on his fingers.

The snowflakes have grown smaller and more of them are falling than before. That means the snow is there to stay. Loki sighs. He needs to leave before the roads get dangerous. Also, he needs to get the boy home. Seeing that Tony is done conversing and that nothing he can say will sway him, Loki opts instead to let his actions speak for themselves. Moving slowly so as not to spook the child, he brings up his briefcase, balancing it on one knee.

Tony stands up with the blanket clutched around his shoulders. Now that he's out of the shadowed corner, the light of the streetlamp lets Loki see him. The wooly hat is too big for his head, his shoulders are hunched, and he's holding his shoe-less foot in the air. Also, he's glares daggers at him. "_What_ are you doing? I told you to leave me _alone_!" he shouts fiercely with his ragged little voice, but the rest of him looks so pathetic that it has little effect.

"And I will, I promise," Loki tells the boy, pitching his voice just loud enough to carry. He thinks, '_He's like a stray puppy_,' and a cold hand squeezed his heart. This is _his_ fault. Finally finding his cellphone, he pulls it out and dials 911, but doesn't call it. He needs to get it to Tony. He remembers the boy's shoe, gets an idea, and reaches out for it.

"Hey, that's mine!" The boy's yell, tinged with fear, stops him and makes him look up. His little hands clench in his blanket, pulling it tighter around his hunched shoulders.

Loki feels like a beast. Something inside him is screaming at him to just turn tail and flee as the child demands, but he squashes that cowardly instinct down. He _cannot_ leave the boy — any boy, really, but especially this one — to die of exposure on top of having taken advantage of him. That would make him worse than depraved, it would mean Loki has abandoned the fundamental principle of being a teacher: caring. He clenches his eyes to calm his erratic breathing and picks the shoe up. "I know," he says, waving it at him. "See? I'm giving it back." Raising his hands so Tony can see, he puts the little white Nokia into the still warm opening for the foot. "Catch!" He lobs the package back in an underhand toss, with as little initial velocity and as large angle as he can manage, to make it easier for Tony.

The shoe makes a textbook-perfect an oblique shot, going straight for Tony's chest, but the boy sidesteps it, alarmed. It lands by Tony's foot and skids to a stop on the concrete under the awning, where Tony watches it as if it might explode. He doesn't move to take it, and the whole line of his body is tense.

Hands around his mouth, Loki encourages him. "Go on."

Tony shakes his head minutely in disbelief. He keeps doing it as he lifts his face to look at Loki, probably not even noticing he's doing it. "Forget it, Pervert," he says, hopping on one foot until he's at the other corner of the doors. "I saw you put something in there. I'm not touching that."

Wise of him, under the circumstances, but annoying. Loki only wants to help and then go home and have a really hot bath. Maybe even with bubbles. He rubs his arms to warm them up and banishes from his mind the uncalled-for mental image taking a bath with Tony. '_Stop thinking with your cock if you want him to trust you,_' he tells himself sternly, and says loudly, "My phone. That's what I put in." A shiver wrecks him. He notices he can't feel his toes. "I dialed 911. You can call them now if you want, just press—"

"I know how a cellphone works!" Tony shouts, cutting him off. He still makes no move to get the shoe or the phone within, but at least he isn't pressed into the far wall anymore. His angry scowl now looks more like a brow furrowed in confusion.

Loki waits patiently, shifting from foot to foot to keep warm. He hopes the boy will finish deciding before they both die of hypothermia. He wonders how long that would take and amuses himself by attempting to work it out, until he remembers he doesn't know the specific heat capacity of human flesh or how to calculate their bodies' surface area.

The boy thinks long and hard, his eyes going from the shoe to Loki and back several times. After about thirty seconds of this, he gives a small nod of decision and hops over.

At the sign of movement, Loki looks up. He hopes dearly that Tony will take him up on the offer.

Bracing himself with one hand on the wall, the boy bends at the waist and snatches the shoe from the ground, before retreating into the corner. Carefully, he withdraws the phone and puts the shoe on, making a face and shivering at how cold it is. His blanket slips off during this, revealing that he is dressed in jeans and a sensible jacket at least. Once he is done pulling the blanket back up, he looks at the cellphone and presses a button. The screen's green light casts odd shadows over his face. He snorts. "You're still using this crap? It doesn't even have a color screen!"

Loki rolls his eyes. He's caught a lot of flak from his colleagues over the last two years for not getting a newer model, but the truth is that he loves his faithful Nokia 1100. It's tiny and sleek, the battery lasts forever, and once he ran it over with his car and it didn't even get a cracked screen. Besides, it's not like he listens to a lot of music or takes pictures on a daily basis; why would he want to pay extra for fancy features he doesn't even need? "That _crap_ is all that stands between you and me right now," he deadpans, irked, " so I would be more respectful if I were you."

It's the wrong thing to say.

The tentative air of teasing that has somehow developed between them evaporates with Tony's grin. The boy watches him warily with his thumb poised over the _call_ button. "Right," he murmurs, but it's quiet enough in the snowfall that Loki hears it. His shoulders shake suddenly, and he sniffles. He mutters something that sounds like a curse and pats his face with the blanket.

'_He's crying_,' Loki realizes with a heavy heart. He forgets all about being cold, forgets all about the miserable last days. He takes a step towards the boy. "Tony—"

"You _stay the fuck away from me!_" Tony roars, clutching the cellphone like a lifeline. "It's all _your_ fault, you disgusting piece of shit!"

Loki's eyes widen and his jaw clenches. What Tony is saying is nothing new to him and Loki can't deny it, but the _way_ he's saying it? No. Simply no. It will not do. "Anthony Edward Stark!" he barks in his teacher voice. "Mind your language!"

The boy startles so badly he nearly drops the phone. He manages to catch it before it falls. He stays in that position, awkwardly bent over with one arm thrown out for balance, for a second or two, before righting himself. He looks down, seemingly chastised, though the set of his mouth speaks volumes about what he's keeping quiet. He sniffles again and wipes his face with his hand. He says nothing.

Sighing, Loki digs through his briefcase for a pack of tissues and approaches the boy, waking up the stairs until their heads are almost level. "Here, Mr. Stark." He holds a tissue out like a peace offering.

Tony slaps his hand away viciously, squinting up at him in defiance. Then his lips twist in a horrible chimera of a sneer and a smirk. "Oh, I see. You're trying to get me to trust you, you _freak_." He takes a step back and brandishes the Nokia like a sword. "You want to finish what you started, eh? Finish raping me, like the pedophile you are?"

There are so many things wrong with what Tony just said that Loki doesn't know where to begin. For a moment, all he can do is gape, his mouth closing and opening as he blinks quickly, shaking his head and then running his fingers through his hair. They get tangled in his ponytail, messing it up, but he is beyond caring. He holds one finger up. "Hebephile," he clarifies slowly, enunciating as clearly as he can. That is all he says.

Tony squints at him, the bridge of his nose scrunched up. "Huh?" he asks, shaking his head as though not believing he heard right.

Loki feels his cheeks heat up. It's the first time he's ever told anyone about this while fully conscious. "Hebephile. That's the name." He clears his throat and looks away. The darkness of the parking lot seems inviting; he wants to hide there. "For what I am. Pedophiles like young kids. I like—" His voice falters. He can't say it. It doesn't help that he feels like he's only spouting out excuses for his behavior.

The boy is smart enough to extrapolate Loki's meaning. He gets a knowing look. "You like kids that go to high school." He scoffs through his nose and crosses his arms under his blanket. He mutters, "Pervert," rolling his eyes and angling his body away from Loki as if shielding it from his roving eyes. "Clever, though, I gotta grant you that." He gives Loki a sarcastic smile and pokes his hand out of its refuge to gesture at the school.

"No," Loki starts, but then he forces himself to stop and think before speaking. He knows he will only get this one chance. "Well, yes, but not for the reasons you think." He sighs long and hard, shaking his head, and licks his lips. He can't hold Tony's eyes. "My preference is for middle schoolers, Mr. Stark." The corner of his mouth twists up in a self-deprecating smirk. "Preteens and thereabouts. Which is why I only teach juniors and seniors."

"Oh," the boy says. Nothing more.

Heartbeat rate elevated. Loki wonders if the boy can hear it in the quiet of the snowfall. Wonders what he is thinking. He can't resist the curiosity long; he glances at the boy.

Tony is looking at him intently, still huddled in his blanket like it can hide him from Loki's perversions.

Loki averts his eyes again. There is graffiti on the door. Curious, how he's never noticed it before. Feeling the need to say something, to explain himself, he babbles. "So you see, I planned on never acting upon my… desires." Oh, he'd been so innocent. "And I was managing fine. Until you came along."

The boy snorts, the puff of white smoke fogging his face for a second. "Oh, so it's _my_ fault, isn't it?" he asks with his head tilted slightly back, eyebrows slightly raised. Like he's just daring Loki to argue.

What?

Loki feels the surprise like a physical blow that pushes him back. He almost drops off his stair, he's so taken aback. "What?!" he demands, horrified. "No! Did I say that?" Did he? He plays back what he just said. "No. It's _my_ fault!" He throws one hand sideways, discarding that notion like the trash it is. His other hand stabs his fingers into his chest. "_I_ was the one who couldn't keep my hands to myself. And I'm sorry for that." He holds Tony's eyes for this. "I really am. You should call the police." He lets out a shaky breath that has nothing to do with how cold he feels.

Tony's face is the picture of surprise. He is frozen like that, mouth flapping as he flounders for something to say. Then his brow crinkles, his eyes well up, and his bottom lip quivers. He looks away with a sob; mutters something that sounds like "But that's what _he_ said." The way he turned his head is such that the light of the streetlamp shines on the left side of his face.

The skin around the boy's eye is puffy and discolored.

Loki's patched up Thor enough times after fights to recognize a forming black eye on sight. The bruising must have happened recently, because it wasn't there that morning when Tony sat the test. '_He? He, who?_' Loki's stomach wrenches; he thinks he knows what's going on, and hopes he's wrong. Ignoring his impulse to grab the boy's chin to get a closer look, he asks, "What happened to your face?"

Eyes widening in alarm, the boy glances at Loki and then down again. He shakes his head and shrugs the typical shrug that every teenager has done at least one in their life, the one that screams '_Whatever,' _loudly enough that you can't hear that which isn't being said. "Like you care."

Oh, but Loki does. Not only because the boy is Tony, but because the boy is _a boy,_ and he shouldn't have a black eye. "Of course I care." However, Loki has been a teacher long enough that he knows that asking directly never works. Besides, they really should get under the alcove, or better yet, inside. "You know what? Forget it. Let's just go inside before my balls freeze off." He takes a step around Tony.

The boy practically dives away. One second he's right there, the next he's all the way over, back glued to the far wall of the alcove. "Stay. _Away_. From me," he pants, glaring warningly at Loki. He holds up his hostage Nokia, displaying it to remind Loki that he only has to press one button and the cops will come and arrest him.

Loki raises his hands nonthreateningly. There's a key ring strung on his index finger, so that both teddybear charm and key fall over his palm. "I just wanted to open the door," he explains slowly. Not condescendingly, but enough to drive his point in: no, he wasn't _even remotely_ planning on approaching Tony. He lowers his hand to the keyhole slowly, waiting to see if the child is okay with this before unlocking the door.

Huffing through his nose like an angry bull, Tony allows it. He watches Loki like a hawk as he turns the key and pulls the door open. As soon as the gap is big enough for him to go through, he gathers his backpack and bounces on his feet, as if aching to go inside.

Loki graciously holds the door open for him and gestures at the dark, empty lobby visible through the doorway.

Walking in a way that keeps the maximum reasonable distance between him and his perverted professor, Tony slips inside, not saying a word. His blanket flutters after him like a cape. Loki thinks he's already vanished into the labyrinth of hallways, but no; he's waiting patiently right inside when Loki steps in and closes the door. Like how a stray puppy with nowhere to go will follow another dog's lead.

Loki thought he regretted bad-touching Tony until that moment; now, he wishes time travel were possible so he could just shoot the man he'd been last week. Right now, all he wants is to be able to ruffle the kid's hair without him flinching away in panic, but what is done is done. The child wouldn't need hair-ruffling or reassurances in the first place if it weren't for Loki. Sighing, he pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. He remembers what Sam said about the light switch, feels his way to it, and flips it.

The lights turn on, blinding the both of them.

Tony hisses a curse and hides his face in the darkness of the blanket.

Strange, to hear the boy swear. In Loki's fantasies he is always innocent and pure. He's affectionate, adorable, soft, and prone to turning to Loki at the slightest problem or to blushing over even the slightest innuendo once he catches the second meaning. He looks up at Loki with liquid eyes, his lips moist from shy kisses and parted slightly with a desire he can't quite understand.

There is no trace of shyness or sweetness in the filthy, positively _adult_ words that come out of that decidedly un-innocent mouth.

It takes a lot of blinking to clear the bright spots from Loki's eyes. Once he can see again, he seeks Tony's and points with his head in the direction of the staircase. His last class was on the second floor that afternoon. "You coming, Mr. Stark?" he asks the boy.

The boy shrugs. "Sure. Like I have anything better to do." Loki hadn't realized just how much he looked like an assault victim with a shock blanket until he starts looking more like a boy at a sleepover. It's obvious that he's enjoying this opportunity to furtively explore the school at night. His head swivels around as he looks at the hallways like he's seeing them for the first time.

They make the short trek to the classroom in a silence just short of awkward. Loki decides to prod again, seeing that the boy is in a better mood, but he waits until they reach their destination. Once he flips on the lights, he asks idly, "Would you like to tell me what happened to your face?" Then, without looking at Tony in case that will inhibit him, he goes straight to the desk and looks for his forgotten tests.

Footsteps. The creak of a furniture. The boy's voice, "Not really."

Loki could swear he hears his shrug. Tests in hand, he straightens and sees Tony sitting on a student desk. "Suit yourself. But at least tell me what you're doing here."

Tony's legs swing. He's leaning back on his hands, blanket fallen to drape over the desk and chair; it's much warmer in here. He narrows his eyes at Loki. "What for?"

Should Loki tell him? He's worried about the child. A bruise that big on a boy so young, coupled with said boy running away from home, has the distinct flavor of child abuse. And while he knows he should technically report the runaway child and make sure the kid is taken safely back home, Loki has enough experience with abusive fathers to know that Tony will not be safe if he's returned.

Tony is still watching him with his chin up, just _daring_ him to talk about the elephant in the room. His legs stop kicking.

Loki decides to be blunt. He wrenches his eyes from the boy's pale throat and leans his hip on the side of his desk. Crossing his arms over his chest to convey the seriousness of the situation, he asks, "Did you run away from home?" And then, before the kid can think that he is planning on taking him back, he adds, "Because camping out here is not a good idea. You should have gone to a hotel."

Tony's laugh is cold. "What, and let that asshole find me by tracing his credit card?" He scoffs. "I think not. Here I have hot water and food, and no drunk father to throw his glasses at me… or call me an attention-whore." The last words come out quiet, as though Tony realized mid-sentence that he hadn't meant to say them. The bruise looks especially ugly under the artificial light.

Loki's fists clench. So he was right about the child abuse. And about Tony not being stupid enough to keep quiet about what Loki had done. Before today, he'd never in a million years considered the possibility that someone wouldn't believe Tony. His own father, too. Had he been the one to imply it was Tony's fault somehow? It takes Loki a few tries to remember how to breathe without wanting to scream. "Is he always like that?" he asks, brow furrowing. He's going to get so many premature wrinkles from this whole experience.

The boy gives a one-sided shrugs. "Sorta." His eyes are on the floor now, like the linoleum holds all the answers to his plight, and his right leg kicks half-heartedly. "When Maria is around—" He stops and licks his lips. "That's my mother. Maria, I mean," he explains, giving Loki enough time for that to sink in before continuing. "When she's around, they get into fights with each other and pretty much leave me alone." He sits up and then promptly hunches over. "Right now she's in Italy visiting my grandma. So Howard only has me to yell at." He shrugs again, pretending so hard he couldn't care less that Loki's heart aches.

Loki suddenly realizes the true extent of his atrocity: not only did he prey on a student, or on a child barely old enough to understand what was going on; he preyed on someone defenseless, someone with no support network to speak of. No wonder then, that Tony now gets panic attacks whenever he sees Loki, or that he chose not to attend his classes and suffer being in his presence knowing what Loki did and that he would get away with it.

There really is no end to regret, is there? Loki thinks he's reached rock bottom, and then Tony says something and plunges him further into the muck.

This completely culls Loki's naïve pipedreams of taking the boy home with him. He's thought about it several times since he realized that the ball of homeless misery was Tony, but now there is no way the offer will seem anything but sinister. If he had more money, he would offer to pay for a hotel, but he doubts a debt like that would be well received, either. He gets off the desk and stretches, turning his back on Tony. "Well then. I ought to be leaving soon, or else the streets will be unmanageable."

The boy startles, sitting up straight. "What, that's it?" he demands, chin jutting out. He jumps to his feet and stomps over to Loki until he can look his professor in the eye. "You—you're just leaving me _here_?" He gestures around violently, indicating the school.

"Indeed, Mr. Stark," Loki says simply, putting the tests in his briefcase. He clips the old bronze buckles closed and makes for the door. "So, if you'll excuse me—"

Suddenly, the kid is between him and the door, arms thrown wide. "No!" he gasps. He shakes his head slowly, gaping at Loki. "I have no food. I don't know how to turn on the heating!" He's hyperventilating now, the penny finally dropping.

'_Oh, yes, this brings back memories._' Loki is intimately acquainted with the feeling of abruptly grasping that you've bitten off more than you could chew. He levels a look at him. "You have vending machines." It's a merciless thing to say, but there really is nothing he can do unless the boy truly is desperate enough to come with Loki. "I can leave you money for them. You can sleep on the mats in the gym. And you have a blanket, don't you?"

Tony looks like he is about to cry. His gaze searches Loki's eyes as if hoping he'll find one, just one clue that his professor is lying, and then drops to the floor. His hands tremble, and he drops them too. "Fuck," he mutters, turning away. Giving up. He's just realized that he can't go home but he can't stay either.

'_Are you thinking there is no place for you in the world?' _Loki gives him a sad smile, recalling the last time he thought that of himself. "If it were up to me, I'd take you in. Feed you a hot meal, let you take a long hot shower, put you to bed…" He trails off, wondering if this is wise. Well, Tony could do a lot worse than coming home with him; he could have fallen in with druggies, like Loki had. He chuckles self-deprecatingly. "But come on. It's not like you'll ever accept. Not after the travesty I committed upon you."

The boy is looking at him out the corner of his eyes. The gigantic bruise is a blight on his small face. "Yeah," he says softly. "Pervert." He lowers his gaze again. "Would I have to sleep with you?" he asks even more softly. Like he's actually considering it.

It punches the air right out of Loki's lungs. Images fly past his mind in quick succession—

Bathing Tony, his hands slick with soap, roving over every inch of untouched skin and tickling the child until he's flushed and grinning. Going to bed naked while Tony's wearing one of Loki's old shirts and nothing else, their bodies slowly gravitating closer together under the covers. Spooning with the boy, sneaking a hand up the shirt and stroking Tony's warm stomach and small pink nipples, the boy mewling sleepily in his embrace. Waking Tony up in the morning with kisses on his soft pale throat, a hand cupping his undeveloped cock, trusting brown eyes fluttering open, the boy smiling upon seeing Loki…

—and Loki shakes them out of his head. No. _Not in a million years. _He has already assaulted a child in his care, he will not force him to—to _prostitute_ himself for access to basic amenities. No matter how much he wants to.

"You're… blushing," says the boy uncertainly. He is now standing two steps further away from Loki than he was before got lost in a hurricane of bad ideas.

Of course he is blushing. Loki is glad the thick coat hides exactly how _excited_ the suggestion has made him. "Yes. I know," he admits dryly. Really, what else had the boy expected? Loki wants what he wants. It doesn't mean he has to go take it, but he still _wants_ it. Still burns for it. "I'm sorry. I can't help it." His tongue darts out to wet his lips. "But to answer your question, no. You would take the guestroom." The next bit rushes out of him unexpectedly. "It locks from the inside."

The boy's shoulders lower, and it looks like he's actually considering the offer. He bites his lower lip — rather fetchingly — and looks up at his teacher. "And you won't touch me?" he whispers as if dreading the answer.

Loki knows how to answer this one. "Not without your express—" '_and enthusiastic_,' his brain fills in traitorously, "—consent. Even if you don't take the offer, I'll promise you that anyway, Mr. Stark." He shakes his head. "And this time I'll keep it."

Tony blinks up at him. Then he grins and juts out his hand. "You can call me _Tony_. I think we're there now." He winks, seeming completely unconcerned.

Such bravado. Eyebrows rising, Loki hesitates only briefly — an invitation counts as consent, right? — before reaching out to shake Tony's hand. They are far enough away that he needs to stretch and shuffle one foot forward to do it.

The boy moves his hand away at the last moment, dodging Loki's. He regards Loki with narrowed eyes. "I get to keep a phone with me at all times," he bargains, keeping his hand to his chest like a precious treasure. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, "Pervert."

Loki smiles and shakes his head fondly. The child is turning out to be a lot quirkier than he'd first thought. He likes it, for once in a way that doesn't involve his cock. "You get to keep a phone with you at all times," he parrots, agreeing, and offers the boy his hand with the palm almost but not quite facing up.

Then Tony's small hand is in Loki's, gripping as firmly as it can, given its size. It's cold, but it warms soon enough as they shake, borrowing Loki's body heat.

Hand dwarfing the boy's, Loki hopes he can make up for what he's done.


	5. Adaptation

**Chapter Four: In which Loki's learning curve to coexistence with Tony is very, very steep.**

* * *

The trip to Loki's house is awkward.

Tony sits in the backseat. At first he'd wanted to ride shotgun, but L Loki told him that seatbelts are made to fit grown men and that yes, it's unfair and size-ist, but it is what it is. The boy doesn't agree, but he doesn't complain either. He doesn't talk at all. Loki doesn't take the school key back to Sam just in case Tony decides living with him is impossible or dangerous. He doesn't tell the boy — he doesn't talk either — but it reassures him to know they have a plan B.

By the time they arrive home, the boy's stomach is growling loudly enough for Loki to hear. He grins at the notion of being allowed to cook for Tony. He's planning on mac and cheese for the combined effect of junk food and comfort food, already imagining the smile it will earn him. This, at least, is one fantasy he can fulfill.

The boy asks to shower first, before food. He looks blue around the lips despite the — admittedly faulty — heating in Loki's old car.

Loki fetches him a towel and points him in the direction of the only bathroom in the house that's fully stocked with shampoo and soap. Then, thinking ahead, he also fetches socks, a pair of soft cotton jogging pants and a t-shirt, and sets them down by the bathroom door.

Firmly stomping down any notions of poking his head inside and spying on the child as he bathes, he goes down to the kitchen to cook the boy's dinner.

His imagination is relentless, though, and it batters at his will with pictures of what Tony must look like right now, with water running all over his body, eyes closed as he enjoys the warmth, and slowly reddening kin.

Loki stares off into the distance while those mental images dance across his mind's eye, and almost lets the pasta burn. Ashamed, he resolutely squashes those thoughts by concentrating on what Tony will need. At least two changes of clothes, a packet of underwear, socks, and another pair of shoes. He worries about the money; that cools off his lust easily enough.

When Tony comes into the kitchen dressed in Loki's clothes and smelling of his shampoo and sits at the table, his cheeks are still pink from the heat and his hair still wet and clinging to his forehead.

Loki excuses himself and retreats to the living room. Flushed and flustered, he sits on his sofa and takes deep breaths.

Then the boy joins him, carrying his plate and spoon with him. "This tastes like shit, Pervert," he says as he shovels a spoonful into his mouth and chews.

Loki wants to say something about how he hates it when people eat in places other than those designated for eating — wants to say something about how Tony is an ungrateful little bitch — but stops himself. He owes this kid, after all. "Do you have the phone with you?" he asks instead, turning on the TV to watch the news and distract himself.

Tony pauses his food shoveling and reaches down into his pocket. "Yup." He pulls out Loki's Nokia and waves it in his face before putting it away again. He chews another bite, eyes flickering from Loki to the screen. "This is boring. Change the channel."

Boring? There is a war going on. But Loki bites his tongue and makes a show of setting the remote down and sliding it over to Tony. "Pick what you want."

One cheek bulging out with half-chewed pasta, the boy takes the remote and gives Loki a strange look. He zaps through the available channels, finally settling on Discovery Channel, which is showing a documentary on how cars are made.

'_Now _this_ is boring,_' thinks Loki, sighing. He gets up and goes to the kitchen to fetch some soda. He ends up leaning his head against the fridge. Is this what his life will become? Endlessly catering to a spoiled child to make up for one single mistake? He draws his head back and lets it drop against the fridge door again. The small hurt is refreshing. Then he takes out a Coke and a beer — one of six he'd bought in anticipation of Thor's arrival — and returns.

It's a good thing he's already drinking from the mouth of the bottle when he sits down, because he can see the boy eyeballing his beer with a covetous glint in his eyes. He offers the Coke, the boy takes it and drinks from it, but his eyes never leave Loki's bottle, and the small smirk doesn't leave his lips.

When Tony finishes his dinner, he leaves his bowl and half-drunk Coke on Loki's coffee table, stretches, and announces he's ready for bed.

Eyeing the dirty bowl, Loki bites his tongue and stands up. He leads Tony to the guest room, gives him the key to the lock, and wishes him a good night.

Tony shuts the door in his face without saying a word.

* * *

The next day, Loki sleeps in.

His dream about Tony is decidedly sexual but not nightmarish, and he wakes up hard. He smiles into his pillow, the last traces of dream-Tony's sweet disposition falling through his fingers like sand. It doesn't matter. He remembers that the boy is living under his roof, that he can see him and revel in his presence whenever he wants, and his smile widens.

Having no reason to shower just yet, he simply applies a layer of deodorant and gets dressed in house clothes. He plans on going out later, when and if the sun has melted whatever ice is on the road, and buying groceries and clothes for Tony, but right now all he wants is breakfast. Since he is in a rare good mood, that means pancakes.

He makes two stacks, one of them for Tony, and sets the table. He gets coffee for himself, milk for the boy, and orange juice for both of them, and calls out for Tony.

The boy comes down ten minutes later. His cheeks are still pink with sleep, one of them marked with pillow creases, and his hair sticks up on the same side of his head. Apparently, Tony likes to sleep on the same side as Loki.

'_Perfect for spooning,_' Loki thinks. He says, "Good morning," trying not to sound too eager.

Tony grunts unintelligibly and plops down on the chair further from Loki. Slouching in his seat, he sets down Loki's cellphone and sends him a pointed look before slapping a hand on his table mat and dragging it over until it is in front of him. He takes one glance at the pancakes and says, "Syrup."

The boy has a sweet tooth. '_How unexpected,_' Loki deadpans in his mind recalling every single time the boy had come to class sucking on a cherry lollipop, or peeled one in the middle of the lesson and popped it into his mouth, driving Loki to distraction. The students aren't allowed to eat in class, but Loki hadn't been able to bring himself to stop the spectacle that was Tony practically fellating the hard candy with his glistening red lips. Bringing himself back to the present, he points in the general direction of the kitchen. "Cabinet over the microwave oven, bottom shelf."

Tony straightens, but he stays in his chair Instead of getting up. "Fetch it for me," he demands. His poise and voice are those of a little prince. "And coffee too. I don't drink milk plain." He sips his orange juice, blinking sleepily at Loki.

His cheekiness is delightful, just like in class. Loki gives him a half smile. "Sure thing." He takes a bite of pancake for the road and gets up. When he returns, he sets down an empty mug, the pot of coffee and the maple syrup on the table and slides them over to Tony, still not daring to come too close to him.

Saying nothing, the boy takes the syrup and upends it over his plate. He drowns the pancakes in it. Then he pours himself coffee, filling the mug with it, and drinks, his mouth turning slightly at the taste. He washes it out with the last of the orange juice.

Loki's eyebrows shoot up. "No milk, no sugar?" he asks, picking up his fork. He cuts a piece of pancake, noticing there's only four now, whereas before there were five. '_Clever little thief_,' he thinks fondly.

Tony shrugs. "Howard says real men drink their coffee black." He takes another swig and sets it down. "But this cheap swill tastes so bad I might just add milk to it to hide the flavor."

Brow furrowing slightly, Loki stabs his pancake. If the boy thinks he's being charming by dissing what Loki is providing for him, he's got another thing coming. Still, he decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. Yesterday was a trying day, and Tony is surely still nervous and stressed about his situation. Of _course_ he's lashing out wherever he can. Surely it will pass. "How are the pancakes?" he asks idly.

The boy wrinkles his nose. "They taste like they came out of a box," he says. "Not even the syrup can hide it." He pushes his plate away, signaling he isn't hungry anymore — though his timing makes it seem like the pancakes made him lose his appetite — and stands up. He grabs the mug and the cellphone and turns to leave.

"Wait," Loki hurries to say. He wants to ask the boy to take his used cutlery and dishes and leave them by the sink.

Tony stops, but he doesn't turn around. "What do you want now?" he drawls tiredly.

Not wanting to give him further cause to hate him, Loki backpedals. "What are your clothes sizes? I'm going into town later to buy you a change or two." Which he's been meaning to ask anyway.

Giving him a suspicious look, Tony deliberates. Loki can practically see him doing the math — is this something perverted, or does Loki genuinely want to help? — before shrugging. He mumbles, "You can get them from the clothes I was wearing last night," and leaves.

Loki watches him disappear into the living room. Moments later, he hears the distinctive wacky noises and high-pitched voices of Saturday morning cartoons. He looks mournfully at the almost untouched pancakes in Tony's plate, ruined beyond recognition with syrup, and sighs.

* * *

As the day goes by, Tony's disposition to Loki doesn't change.

When Loki comes back that afternoon bearing two new superhero-themed long-sleeved shirts, a pair of jeans, a hoodie, and a pair of sneakers he found on the discount pile, Tony complains that the he doesn't like long-sleeved t-shirts, that he hates Superman anyway, that the jeans are not pre-torn and it's uncool, that the hoodie is too red ("No, seriously, what do you think I am, Red Riding Hoodie? Lemme guess, you're the Big Bad Wolf."), and the sneakers are ugly. Upon being handed a packet of three white cotton briefs and two pairs of socks, he complains that real men wear boxers.

Later, at dinner time, Loki finds him watching some forensic detectives show on Discovery Channel with his feet propped up on the coffee table and a half-empty bag of chips close at hand. Chip crumbs are littered all over his upholstery and Tony's new clothes. Spotting dirty glasses on the table, he picks them up; Tony complains that Loki is blocking the TV. He doesn't come to the table for dinner, but instead locks himself up in his guestroom with his bowl of rice and stew, and comes out only when Loki knocks on his door carrying dessert.

Right before going to sleep, Loki goes to the bathroom to take a piss. His socks get wet; Tony didn't dry the floor after he took a shower. Sighing, Loki decides to speak about it to him tomorrow and brushes his teeth. The tube of toothpaste, which Loki always takes care to squeeze only from the bottom, has obviously been squeezed from the top, and it lies uncapped on the sink.

Loki goes to sleep that night wondering if maybe he's been living alone so long that he's forgotten what sharing a house is like.

* * *

The next two days are even worse.

Tony never says "please" or "thank you". Never cleans up after himself, not to take his plates to the sink and certainly not to dry the bathroom floor after he takes a shower. (Actually, Loki is convinced Tony goes out of his way to spill as much water as possible.) He leaves out the milk and boxes of cereal, and the dirty bowl sets up camp wherever Tony feels like dropping it. He doesn't make his bed or take his clothes to the hamper, instead leaving them sopping wet on the bathroom floor — after wearing them only once, so Loki has to wash laundry every day.

He never once offers to help make dinner, though he's quite vocal about what Loki should cook, and he always has at least two complaints with everything he eats. If the meat is not overcooked, then the rice is too salty, or the pasta undercooked, or something tastes terrible. He complains about _everything_, really: the clothes Loki bought for him are itchy or ill-fitting, the smell of the washing powder makes him sneeze, his pillow is too hard, the wallpaper is ugly, and on and on and on.

Loki picks up after him. He thinks nothing of the misbehaving and rudeness, chalking it up to the child just venting his stress in the only relatively safe way he can.

Tony has no respect for Loki's belongings. Whenever he wants to sit on the sofa, he runs at full tilt, jumps, and crash-lands on it. He kicks his shoes off across the room, uncaring of the dirt-prints they leave on Loki's walls ("Oh, look, I think the wallpaper looks better now!"), and that's when he remembers to take them off before jumping onto the couch or, once, on Loki's bed.

One of Loki's pillows mysteriously finds its way to Tony's bed. Loki's silk scarf, the one Frigga gave him for prom all those years ago and which he still keeps somewhere in his closer, ends up around Tony's neck; it's the first time that Loki feels like strangling him. The second time is after dinner on the third day of Tony's stay, when Tony just leans over and plucks the beer out of Loki's hand, takes a swig, makes a face, and gives it back to Loki.

Everything he does drives Loki up the walls with righteous indignation, but he says nothing. He knows that what he did to the child was monstrous and that he will never fully atone. This, he thinks, is his punishment.

The only good thing about the whole ordeal is that Loki's realized that the romanticized idea he had of Tony — sweet, polite, affectionate boy, always warm and nice-smelling and smiling — is complete and utter bullshit.

The kid is a _nightmare_.

* * *

Loki is in his study on the fourth day, ostensibly marking the tests but actually hiding from Tony's sharp tongue and judging eyes. He has a beer with him, in lieu of the marijuana he's really craving, and every now and then he pauses to fume at Tony's ungratefulness.

Suddenly, the door slams open with a _bang_, startling him.

Turning his swivel chair around, Loki finds the most recent bane of his existence in the doorway, with a shark-like grin on his face. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he asks, "Can I help you?"

Tony stands even straighter, if possible, his chin up so that he's looking down on Loki. He puts his hands on his hips, the very picture of childish defiance, and declares, "You're going to give me an A."

Loki's eyebrows shoot up on his forehead briefly before he gets control over his face again. He'd entertained and rejected the idea of extorting the boy by holding his grades hostage, but he'd never imagined the boy might try to extort _him_. '_Enough is enough,_' he thinks, his hands making fists on his lap. "Oh, am I?" he asks neutrally, arching one eyebrow. "I seem to recall that you earned a B minus..." he trails off, shuffling the papers on his desk until he finds the boy's test.

The teardrops have dried, but the blurred rings when the ink ran remain as clear as ever. On top, in red, says "C+".

He shows it to Tony. "Now, I understand that you were under a lot of stress that day," he says, putting the test back down and smoothing it with his hands. His heartbeat quickens in anticipation. "I can't give you an A, but I _can_ let you retake the test."

Tony's eyes are stormy and chin is jutting out determinedly. "No. I didn't mean the test." He pulls out Loki's cellphone — which must be nearly out of battery by now as Loki didn't give him the charger and Tony didn't deign to ask for it — and holds it up like it's a shield and a sword at the same time. "An A," he enunciates slowly, the cellphone a looming threat, leaving no room for misunderstandings. "For the whole class. Or else."

Loki's nostrils flare, his jaw clenches, and his face feels hot. "You ungrateful—" He chokes on his own anger and lets out a roar instead, slamming his hand on the desk. He stands up abruptly.

The boy flinches violently, his arms jumping up to cover his head and chest.

Loki freezes where he is; he hadn't been expecting the all-consuming _fear _that Tony is displaying right now. He's still angry, but the red haze of madness isn't clouding his thoughts anymore. "Mr. Stark—"

"Well?" Tony interrupts, glaring up at Loki from between his forearms. "Go on," he snarls, his defiant eyes bright on his too-pale face, "hit me. You know you want to." He's breathing heavily and cowering, but standing his ground. Baring his teeth, the throws Loki's little Nokia at his head.

It's too fast for Loki to dodge, but the boy's aim is still piss-poor. The phone sails a foot wide of Loki's shoulder, hitting a painting hanging on the wall. Loki stares at the boy in disbelief.

"Come on!" Tony shouts, the sound guttural and ugly. He looks positively terrified, like a cornered animal with nothing to lose.

Loki drops back down into his chair, making it scoot a few inches, and drags his palm over his face. '_That child is the single most confusing creature I've ever encountered,_' he thinks, inhaling deeply. "No," he says simply, shaking his head with his fingers still curled over his chin. He understands, all at once, what has been going on the last few days.

_Tony is acting out._

Loki remembers Frigga's tales of when he was first adopted — the ones she only began telling after he found out by himself and ran away. He has no recollection of the events, just as he has no recollection of anything from before the age of six. According to his mother, he'd been a three-year-old _terror._ He'd trip Thor and steal his toys, purposely refuse to do that Odin and Frigga said, hide for hours, throw his greens at Frigga's head... Whenever Loki expressed his disbelief that he'd ever been that bad, Frigga smiled and said that all recently adopted children were the same, no two ways about it. She stroked his hair and explained that Loki had been terrified that they, too, would hurt him or disappear, so he pushed them away first and continually tested their resolution to keep him and care for him.

Tony is physically weaker than Loki, and he is smart enough to know it. Even the phone he hangs onto so tightly will be little protection; if Loki decides he wants a piece of him, then by the time the cops arrive Loki will have had enough time to do whatever he wants. Tony's swagger, his pretending he was the boss of Loki, was nothing but the boy testing his boundaries, either initiating the abandonment before it happened to him or re-directing Loki's aggression towards non-sexual violence.

And since Loki has been so desperate to please him and earn his forgiveness, he set no boundaries at all.

No wonder, then, that the last few days have been so...

"...Toxic," Loki mutters into his hand, horrified.

"Um, what?" Tony says, interrupting Loki's spiraling thoughts.

Loki blinks and shakes himself. He glances at Tony, unsure of how to proceed.

The boy is standing on the balls of his feet; hesitant, ready to bolt at the slightest sign of Loki getting violent. The expression on his face makes it very clear that he has absolutely no idea what is going on. "Pe—pervert?"

Loki huffs out through his nose and rolls his eyes. "Oh, calm down. I'm not going to hit you." He deflates in a huge sigh, the tension leaving his body. "Come here," he says, waving the boy over.

Tony sidles over cautiously: one step, a pause, another step, another pause. His shoulders are up near his ears in a preemptive flinch; he's ready to run for cover the second Loki makes any brusque motions. "What do you want?" he asks tentatively.

"Hold out your hand." Loki averts his gaze from the child's fearful eyes, hating that he is once again the cause of such anxiety. He feels around in his briefcase until he finds the fluffy teddy bear keychain and pulls it out. Then he reaches out reaches out for Tony's hand intending on dropping it there.

But the hand is snatched away instantly. The boy holds it almost behind his back, well away from Loki. He's watching Loki warily and sucking on his lower lip, as if trying to decide if Loki will attempt to grab it forcefully.

Loki sighs and gives him a flat stare. Wryly, he thinks, '_What a moment Tony choses to be scared of me,_' and says, "Sorry for that. I was only giving you this, I promise." He uncurls his fingers and shows Tony Sam's key to the school. "I said I wouldn't touch you unless you allowed it, remember?" He holds up the key between thumb and forefinger, letting the sickeningly adorable charm dangle back and forth. "Take this." He extends his arm as far as it will go, leaning over so much that the chair creaks.

The boy takes a step back, giving tiny and slow shakes of his heads. He doesn't even seem to realize he's doing it; his eyes, now wider, are fixed on the bear charm, white and pink and wearing a red bow. "The school keys," he sighs, so softly he might as well have mouthed it. Then he locks gazes with Loki and takes a gasping breath. "You're kicking me out?" he asks, voice tremulous. He doesn't take the key, but his eyes keep glancing at it every few seconds.

Loki can read his worry in the lines forming on his brow; can see his hopelessness in the way the light in his eyes disappears. "I am," he nods, closing his eyes briefly as he does it, and drops his hands to his lap in defeat. He can't stand the thought of abandoning the boy, but... "Our arrangement is clearly not working out. For either of us." He offers Tony a sad little smile; something more resigned than complicit.

The child turns his face away, and his hands make tiny balls with pale knuckles at his sides. He says nothing, obviously waiting for Loki to either explain or dismiss him.

"You see," Loki begins, setting the key down on his desk and swiveling around to face Tony fully, "I had hoped to atone for what I did to you." He makes a steeple with his fingers. Like he's praying for Tony to listen, _really _listen this time. "Not in exchange for your forgiveness — I would not _dream_ of asking that of you — but at least to balance out my ledger by providing you with food and shelter." He sighs and leans back in his chair, resting one forearm on the desk. He drums on the wood with his fingertips and licks his lips as he considers what he's going to say next.

Tony is still tense as a bowstring and looking away, but he's also still there. That means he's at least willing to hear Loki out, despite offering as much reaction as a doll carved out of wood.

"But I fear I have done you yet another bad turn," Loki says, taking off his glasses and putting them down next to the keys. "You did not believe me when I said I'd never lay a finger on you again unless you allow it. Or maybe you did, but you suspected I would try to get that consent by making you feel indebted to me, or simply by getting into your good graces and then tempting you into my bed."

The boy twitches, his hands relaxing a bit to hang loosely curled by his thighs. A tiny smile plays on his lips, almost imperceptible to anyone who hasn't spent hours lovingly admiring that beautiful face.

Spot on, then. Being right sucks sometimes. Loki massages the bridge of his nose. "And so, you little _devil_, you became the rudest, most ungrateful, most intolerable house guest, all in order to make me stop coveting you or, at the very least, make me..." He searches for words Tony might use, and continues, "Make me _drop my act_ already and just savage you instead of keeping you guessing." He looks at the boy. "Am I warm?"

Tony's playing with the hem of his hoodie. He looks up briefly, sees Loki watching him, and looks down again. "Kinda," he says. His voice sounds rough, and he clears his throat before resuming. "I was also curious how much you would let me get away with." He grins cheekily at Loki, sharing the joke with him, before remembering what Loki's done to him and sobering up. "So... Earn my forgiveness, huh?" He arches a skeptical eyebrow. "Nothing at all to do with how I can put you behind bars with the press of one button?" He gestures at where the nearly forgotten cellphone lies with his head.

"Oh, please," Loki scoffs, rolling his eyes and jerking his head back as if the mere notion makes him disgusted. He parrots Thor's words back at Tony: "I'm not going to prison for putting a vaguely inappropriate hand on a student." He thought long and hard about this, once the panic faded and he could think clearly again. He's not going to lie; he's also thought this while burning with anger when mulling over yet another of Tony's transgressions. "I think that, at _most, _you may be able to get my teaching license suspended."

Bad idea, to talk about this right now. Fear flashes across the boy's features, but he composes himself almost instantly, instead raising his chin. "No wonder you gave me the phone," he spits bitterly. "It's useless." Something occurs to him, leaving him stricken. "I really have no way to make sure you'll keep your hands to yourself."

'_No, no, nonono,_' thinks Loki as he sits up, alarmed at the sudden ugly turn of their conversation. "Ton—Mr. Stark," he corrects himself hurriedly, "if you want me to, I will testify that I raped you." The acrid words burn his throat like bile as they leave it. "If prison is where you think I ought to be, then I will make it happen."

That sure startles the boy. "What?" he asks — shouts, really. "But they'll rape _you_ in there. Do you have any idea what happens to pedophiles—"

"Hebephiles," Loki interjects, a little amused.

"—in prison..." The boy loses steam, distracted by Loki's correction. "Yeah, hebephiles, whatever." Tony rolls his eyes and waves a hand dismissively. "It's all the same to them. Point is." His mouth flaps, as if he wants to keep talking but can't find the words. He blinks a couple times and finishes, "You'd do that, for me?"

Loki gives him a sad smile. "For myself, actually. I can't forgive myself for what I did to you." He looks through Tony, his mind replaying the glorious moment when his hand had curled so intimately against Tony's flesh. The memory of it still gives him a jolt of arousal, even now that he knows in detail exactly how horrifying and traumatic it was for Tony. Suddenly, Loki is consumed by his _hatred _of his cruel, selfish passions. "I shudder to think of what might have happened were you just a smidgen less brave or clever... If you hadn't understood what was happening and removed yourself from my reach..." His head hangs low with shame, his hands gripping each other hard between his legs. His voice comes out strangled when he speaks next. "I can't let that happen ever again."

Footsteps. Suddenly, the boy's feet enter his field of vision and a hand pats his head awkwardly. "There, there?" Tony says, unsure, taking his hand away but not stepping back.

The boy, comforting _Loki_.

_'The universe sure has a sick sense of humor,_' Loki thinks, clenching his stinging eyes shut. He lets out a shuddering breath and raises his head, watching Tony watch him. He can feel the hand on his head still; the openness in the boy's face tastes like the promise of absolution.

Then the boy's eyes flit away and the moment is lost. He stuffs his hands in the hoodie's front pocket. "So, just to be clear. You are not abandoning me at the school anymore, are you?"

Loki smiles softly and shakes his head. "As long as you stop channeling the ghost of Dennis the Menace, I don't see why you shouldn't stay here."

Tony giggles and immediately covers his mouth with a hand, smothering his laughter. The lights in his eyes are dancing as he walks backwards to the door. Then he turns around and leaves.

_'I need a drink_,' Loki thinks, too overwhelmed to process whatever just happened. He picks up the keychain and plays with it, making the bear dance in front of his face. A knock on the door interrupts him, and he snatches the ugly plushie charm out of the air. "Yes?" he asks loudly enough to carry through the door.

Tony pokes his head inside. "By the way," he says casually, "the hoodie is really warm." He bestows a flash of a smile to Loki and vanishes again, closing the door.

It's the first time since he arrived that he's closed a door without slamming it.

Loki leans back in his swivel chair and twirls around in it three whole times to celebrate.

* * *

**AN: **For those of you not in the loop: I have up to chapter 11 pre-written. Updates are on mondays and thursdays, but if I get 5 reviews for a chapter I'll post the next one early. This time I'm posting early because Shi-Toyu and Zombified419 are two lovely darlings and convinced me to do it... *sigh*


	6. Event Horizon

**Chapter Five: In which Loki and Tony reach an understanding.**

* * *

After lunch, Loki asks Tony to remain at the table so they may hammer out a few rules, though he doesn't tell the boy this just yet. The fragrance of cinnamon from when he made baked pears for desert still hangs in the air. It's just strong enough to hide Tony's scent — a calculated move on Loki's part so he won't get distracted by his nearness.

As Loki piles the dishes and cutlery to make it easier to take to the sink, Tony sits in his chair like he wants to bolt, restlessly twitching and bouncing one leg. He is playing with his glass, still half-filled with Coke, and takes as sip as he glances almost shyly at Loki.

'_He looks like a student called to the headmaster's office,_' Loki thinks, keeping back a smile. His lips twitch inevitably. "About your grade," he starts.

Eyes widening, Tony tenses up. The glass makes a loud noise as it's slammed onto the table. "Forget it," he says hurriedly, shaking his head earnestly. "I was just—I don't know what I was thinking, asking for an A." He swallows visibly, his undeveloped Adam's apple bobbing, and stares down at his place mat.

Loki smiled kindly at him. Poor child. "_I_ know," he confides. He wishes he could cover Tony's hand with his own to reassure him, but they have finally achieved some kind of understanding and doing that will only ruin it. "You feel like I owe it to you, after all I've put you through."

The boy nodded slowly, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He's still facing down, but he chances a glance at Loki, inviting him to go on.

"The thing is," Loki continues, resting his hands flat on his thighs to fight the urge to touch him, "I cannot give you a grade you don't deserve."

Tony raises his head to glare incredulously at him. "But—"

Loki holds up a hand to signal he isn't done talking, cutting him off. "But. You've been under a lot of stress in the days leading up to the test, thanks to me. And, well, during it as well." He bites his tongue, recalling the teardrops on Tony's test and the way he ran away as fast as he could after handing it in. 'Stress' is an understatement, and they both know it. "I realize this is not your best. And so, like I said before, I'm—"

"You meant it? You're gonna let me re-take it?" Tony interrupts. His expression is open — high eyebrows, wide eyes, parted lips curling up at the corners — and he looks like he just found out that Christmas came early that year. It has been the norm, since he came to live at Loki's house, for him to cross his arms over his chest whenever Loki's speaking to him; now, his hands are resting comfortably on the table. He looks _eager_.

Relief. At last, Loki has done something right. He nods at the boy and says, "I am, Mr. Stark. It's only fair that you get to show your knowledge in normal conditions." The gratefulness in the boy's eyes makes him feel powerful, like Tony owes him so much he can collect whatever he wants in return; that, in turns, sickens him. '_What I'm doing is common decency_,' he reminds himself, '_not some boon I'm bestowing upon the boy._' "You are of course not obliged to pay me back in any way."

The boy's lips widen into a grin that shows off nearly all his teeth; the skin around his eyes crinkles so much that it turns them to curved slits. Slowly, eyes fixed on Loki's face, his glee fades, relaxing his face to a soft unconscious smile. His voice is subdued and earnest; he's speaking from the heart as he says, "Thank you, Sir." Suddenly, he blushes and glances away. "I'll go study," he mumbles, and gets up to leave.

"Ah, not to fast!" Loki throws out his arm, impeding his passage. "You have another week and a half for that." It's not like he needs to hand in the grades until after school resumes. "Right now, you have to take these," he gestures to the pile of dishes, glasses, bowls and cutlery, "to the sink and wash them."

Tony snorts through his nose. "Funny," he says, before noticing that Loki isn't laughing or smiling back.

In fact, his face is completely blank, aside from his pointed stare.

"Wait, you're serious?" Tony demands, brows lowering over his eyes as he plops back down into his chair. He crosses his arms over his chest and stares up at Loki like he might change his mind with the power of his own. "You are _seriously_ gonna make me your maid." It's not a question this time. The tight press of his lips shows that it's actually disappointment and hurt put to words.

"Not at all," Loki replies, surprised himself. "I will not ask you to bring me drinks, clean toilets, cook, or iron laundry." Has the child never been expected to help out with chores at home? Frigga had had Loki and Thor making their own beds and clearing their own places from the table since they were seven. "Or anything that does not pertain a thirteen-year-old boy."

"Oh," Tony says, the storm fading from his eyes. He looks uncertain as he uncrosses his arms, like he doesn't quite know where to put his hands. He ends up stuffing them into his pockets. "So... What _does_ pertain to me?"

"Making your own bed. Clearing the table and doing dishes." Loki hesitates, not wanting to make the list too big. "Except the pans and pots I use for cooking; I'll do those." A myriad things pop into his mind; things that irked him when Tony did or didn't do them. "Helping me cook. Making sure the bathroom floor is dry when you leave the shower. Leaving your clothes in the hamper instead of strewn around inside-out." He shrugs, conveying that it's really not that big a deal.

There's a worried line running vertically between Tony's brows, but it fades when he notices Loki looking at him. "Oh," he says again, this time balefully. "I'm not—I'm sorry. I didn't know that sort of thing was expected from guests." Like he's trying to imply that Loki is a bad host.

"You're not a guest, Tony," Loki says, using the boy's first name on purpose to let the boy know this is a heart-to-heart type of conversation. "You live here now, until further notice. You are my roommate." He pauses to let the full import of that sink in. "I will expect from you what anyone would expect from a young man sharing their house, especially considering that my cleaning service isn't working during the holidays. We'll have to make do by ourselves."

"Don't call me 'Tony'," the boy says belatedly, a sullen look in his face. His lower lip juts out in a way that makes him look even younger than he really is. He sighs though his nose. "Okay. I'll behave." He points a Loki warningly. "You behave too, Pervert. I don't want you sniffing my underwear."

The startled snort that his words pull from Loki is ungainly, and he covers his mouth with one hand to hide his rebellious smile. Did Tony know that Loki has been secretly burrowing his nose in his dirty laundry and inhaling deeply, or was that just a wild guess that happened to hit the nail on the head? His cheeks burn hotly as he murmurs, "I guess I'll have to show you how to work the washing machine, after all," with eyes dancing in his mirth.

Tony blinks several times, his shoulders dropping. "Pervert!" he squeals accusingly, blushing as well, and rather fetchingly at that. He jumps to his feet. "Just for that, you get to do the dishes all by yourself," he says crossly — or tries to, but the curling corner of his mouth betrays his playfulness. "I'll be in my room," he informs Loki. "Studying. With the door _locked_." That said, he turns tail and walks out with his head held high.

Loki watches him go with a fond smile on his face. He's ridiculously glad the boy can find it in him to joke about Loki's condition and his inappropriate desire for him.

As he picks up the dishes to wash, he realizes something and freezes, his heart stuttering. '_Did Tony just flirt with me_?' He shakes his head, banishing the notion. It's all in his head; he's only hearing and seeing what he wants to see and hear.

Luckily for his overactive imagination, he barely sees Tony again until dinner. He stubbornly tells himself he doesn't miss the brat and decides to keep his mind occupied by finishing grading the tests.

* * *

This task keeps him entertained till night, and then until about eleven of the next morning. When he finally exits his study, Loki finds Tony lying down on the sofa, reading a book he recognizes. He smiles. "I see you found my library."

Tony looks up from the page absently, spots Loki, and breathes, "Oh." Closing the book over his finger to mark the page, he sits up. "Yeah, I did. Good books. Didn't peg you for science fiction." He hold up the one he stole. "You don't mind?"

"Not at all," Loki replies, glad that the child has found something to occupy his time that isn't watching TV or thinking up ideas to annoying Loki. "There is a movie coming on that I want to watch. Would you...?" He trails off, not knowing if he wants to ask Tony to leave or ask if he would mind if Loki watches it there.

Before he can make up his mind, Tony bends his legs at the knees, retracting them so that his feet are planted on the cushion. He watches Loki silently.

Barely believing that the boy is inviting him to sit next to him, Loki takes his seat gingerly. "Thank you," he says, relaxing the tense muscles along his spine and leaning back. This is good. This is great.

Tony shrugs and lays back down, resuming his reading. The book hides his face perfectly. He rubs his feet together, possibly scratching an itch; his toes are small and dainty, the toenails a bit long and perfectly shaped.

Loki turns the TV on and stares at it fixedly. He can still see Tony's toes out the corner of his peripheral vision, but he refuses to look down. He's refusing so hard that he forgets to pick the channel where the movie will be shown. A movie starts, but Loki can't bring himself — he literally lacks the mental capacity right now — to care about it, not when he can feel the warmth of that Tony's lovely feet are radiating.

"The heck, Pervert?" Tony asks out of the blue. "_This_ is the movie you wanted to watch so badly?" He's peering at Loki over the top of his book, his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Isn't this a little bit _pink_?"

Startled, Loki starts paying attention.

On the screen, Elle Woods is walking home in a strop, her boyfriend trying to explain why he can't be her boyfriend from his car.

Loki's jaw drops. Of all the possible movies, it just _had_ to be _Legally Blonde_. He's seen it a thousand times already, as Frigga used to put it on for _every single _family reunion. Christmas, birthdays, Thanksgiving; any occasion was a good occasion to remind her family that just because a woman is blonde and has big boobs, that doesn't mean she can't also be sensible and brilliant. Knowing Frigga, she probably still tortures Odin with it, but Loki hasn't been to their new home in France since she became ambassador.

Going by Tony's sheer distaste, Loki decides to make the movie into a learning experience. "You'd be surprised." He puts the remote down on the armrest. "This is my mother's favorite movie, actually."

The boy wrinkles his nose, clearly disagreeing with Frigga's taste. "I think I'll just go back to my book." His voice is dripping with derision. He's too busy ignoring the dialogue to hear Elle say she has a 4.0 average.

Loki smiles privately. Watching _Legally Blonde_ feels like sliding on an old pair of jeans; in a word, comfortable. Even though he knows the lines by heart, he lets himself sink into the screenplay, soaking up the empowering storyline. When the screen shows Elle's video to the Harvard board, he hears a muffled snicker and turns to look.

Tony's face is hidden behind his book. His free hand is resting on his belly, making the shirt ride up to expose a sliver of perfectly creamy skin.

Loki wrenches his eyes away.

Later, when Elle arrives at law school dressed in pink and carrying her lapdog, every other student laughs at her behind her back, and Tony giggles with them. The book now lies face-down on his stomach, forgotten; he's given up the pretense of not paying the movie any mind. Noticing Loki watching, he uncurls his legs and puts them hesitantly on Loki's lap.

Loki swallows hard and averts his eyes, knowing he is blushing. He knows he should say something and stop this madness, but instead he stretches the hand that had been in his lap along the backrest, giving the child tacit permission.

Tony relaxes, resting his legs more confidently. His calves burn brands into Loki's thighs as he squirms briefly to get comfortable.

The movie passes like this, Tony gasping in outrage or cheering at the appropriate places while Loki is busy trying to hide his semi. At some point he sits up, too engrossed in the proceedings to notice that he's loving the movie he previously scoffed at. He curls up in his end of the couch, arms around his legs. His toes wiggle and bury into the upholstery, possibly seeking warmth.

It's only when Elle goes into the office of her boss and mentor that Loki remembers the guy sexually harasses her. He goes tense with dread, his mind working a mile a second until he realizes there is no way he can change the channel without Tony complaining. He knows how Elle reacts to it and sees enough parallels between Tony's experience and hers to hope the child will not be triggered.

The lawyer puts his hand on Elle's knee (Loki can practically hear Frigga gasping "That _pig!_" like she does every single time) and Tony startles and points at the TV. "Hey," he says, sounding surprised.

Loki is looking determinedly away, his heart racing. The only good thing is that at least he isn't hard anymore.

Tony jams his foot into Loki's ribs. "Hey, Pervert."

Abashed, Loki turns to catch his eyes. He starts a motion to grab Tony's ankle and dislodge the foot, but aborts it, instead letting his hand drop back into his lap. "Yes?"

Now that he has Loki's attention, Tony withdraws his leg and curls up again. Only the top half of his face is visible over his knees, and his eyes are wide and innocent as he asks, subdued, "Never without my permission, right?"

Loki stares for a second or two, not quite comprehending the question. "Never," he breathes, shaking his head slowly. "Never again." He swallows hard; he shouldn't have said 'again', surely it brought the memories up. His face grows hot under Tony's scrutiny. "I'm sorry."

The boy rests his chin on his knees and gives him a soft smile. "I know, Sir." His arms are still hugging his legs, but it seems to be more about keeping his legs from spilling than about making himself a smaller target.

Loki can't help but smile back, feeling warmth spread all over him and relax every single tense muscle, before nodding his head at the TV pointedly.

They watch the rest of the movie in a companionable silence, Tony cheering and yelling "Yes! In your _face_, bitch!" when Elle tricks the truth out of the real killer in front of the whole court.

By the time it ends, it's time a late lunch. Tony is bouncing around, full of restless energy, so Loki offers him a deal: if he helps cook, he can choose what they'll be eating.

Tony goes still for a minute, then he throws himself at Loki from the side and hugs him around the waist.

With a sharp intake of breath, Loki goes still. He doesn't dare lower his arms and bring Tony into a full hug for fear he will scare him, but neither does he want to move away, even though he knows he should. He wishes desperately they could stay like this forever, with Tony a small, comfortable warmth against his side, quite literally under Loki's wing. "Tony," he says softly, "may I hug you back?"

The boy shakes his head furiously against Loki's ribs, but he doesn't let go quite yet. His little arms are warm and they tremble slightly, but the grip is firm.

"Okay," Loki says softly, accepting his face. '_Still scared, huh_?' he thinks fondly. He wants to pat Tony on the top of his head at least, but refrains, letting his arms dangle awkwardly at his sides. The child smells wonderful this close — Loki's shampoo and washing powder, the chocolate milk he had a few hours ago and, underneath all that, soft warm _boy_. He can't help but inhale, wanting to record this moment in his memory forever.

The boy pulls his head back and squints up at Loki. "Are you _sniffing_ me?" he asks, voice going thin with incredulity.

"Busted," Loki says sheepishly, reaching up to put a hand behind his neck. He tries to bite back a laugh; it comes out as a snort.

Tony lets go of him and shoves at his side, not violently but playfully. He doesn't look annoyed, not with the sheer mischief dancing all over his expression. He points at his eyes and then at Loki in the ubiquitous 'I'm watching you' gesture. Then he turns away like nothing happened and announces, "Chicken stroganoff. On noodles, not rice." He wrinkles his nose. "I hate rice."

Loki's relieved beyond measure that the boy didn't take offense. He needs to watch his behavior better, though; he can't rely on Tony always being in a forgiving mood. "Alright," he agrees, feeling like he's floating. "But you are in charge of the pasta."

Putting his hands behind his head, elbows up in the air, Tony winks at him. "Everyone on my mother's side is Italian. I think I can handle making some noodles."

* * *

Cooking around Tony is like an exotic dance. The boy stays by the stove, obsessively watching over the pasta boiling merrily away. Whenever Loki comes to add freshly chopped ingredients to his own pot, he ducks aside in unpredictable directions; this results in a lot of bumping into each other, despite Loki's mental vow to keep at least two inches between at all times.

These delays mean that the pasta is finished well before the stroganoff, and Tony starts setting the table without a flustered Loki having to ask.

When they finally sit down to eat, the boy has transformed into a completely different creature, relaxed and smiling. Nothing at all like the high-strung nightmare he's been these past few days. Domesticity suits him. The noodles are overcooked and the stroganoff too salty, but neither of them complain. Instead, they talk about Tony's book, sci-fi in general, and about the possibilities of navigable wormholes.

By the end of the meal, they've got into a disagreement. Voices are raised. Loki fetches pen and paper to illustrate a point to Tony. Tony isn't convinced, and tosses the single cold noodle left on his plate at Loki to show his displeasure. It lands squarely on Loki's face, sticking to his forehead, nose and cheek; a diagonal of slime that cuts his diatribe short. They're both speechless for a couple heartbeats, and then Tony collapses into a pile of squealing laughter, slapping the table in his mirth.

Chuckling, Loki grabs the end of the noodle and pulls it off. The tail end smears sauce all over one lens of his glasses, so he takes them off to wipe them clean.

Suddenly, Tony reaches across the table and pats at his face with his napkin, still smiling.

Heart racing, Loki blushes but doesn't stop him, letting him clean up his mess. He even closes his eyes so Tony won't have to worry about the napkin getting in them. When the boy withdraws his hand, he says, "Thanks, Child."

Tony's cheeks are slightly pink, too. "Sorry," he murmurs, embarrassed. His liquid eyes look huge on his face as he watches Loki.

Breathless, feeling like he's been kneed in the stomach, Loki replies, "I guess you'll have to wash the dishes this time." Unconsciously, he reaches out to ruffle the boy's hair, and only remembers to stop himself when his hand is about a foot from Tony. '_Oh, right. No touching,_' he tells himself, his hand curling dejectedly like a wounded bird, and he takes it back—

"It—it's okay," Tony blurts out, looking slightly petrified. He swallows hard, dropping his gaze to his plate.

Loki freezes, barely believing this. "Are you sure?" His hand hovers awkwardly above the salt shaker.

Tony nods, his lips pressed into a serious line. He lets his air out through his nose like a pressure valve lets out steam. "Just my head, though."

Loki can barely hear him over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He stretches his arm again — feeling as much trepidation as a lion-tamer putting his hand in the lion's mouth — and places his hand on Tony's hair. It's soft like silk and warm; so, so warm. He still can't process that the child is allowing him to touch him again; he wanted to ruffle his hair, but he finds himself carding his fingers through it instead.

The child watches him the whole time. His head is bowed to give Loki better access, but his eyes are locked on Loki's. His cheeks redden some more and he murmurs, "That's enough," after a few seconds.

Instantly, Loki lifts his hand from his head and snatches it back, not wanting to seem like he was overstepping his boundaries. He can still feel the silky tresses against his skin and he's smiling genuinely when he puts his glasses back on. "Thank you, Mr. Stark," he says politely.

For an answer, the boy shrugs and gets up, not meeting his eyes. He grabs his plate and Loki's and turns to drop them in the sink, only pausing once to shoot an unreadable glance at Loki before continuing.

Thinking Tony might like to be left alone with his thoughts, Loki loudly announces, "Well, this old geezer got up too early this morning and wants a nap. Will you be alright with cleaning up by yourself?"

Tony nods and turns the tap on. "Yeah. Night." He smirks, still looking down and away from Loki. Then, barely audible over the sound of the rushing water, comes, "Try not to dream of me, Pervert."

Loki gapes. To think that he can joke about it so easily now! "I make no promises," he chances. His voice is light an airy, making it sounds like he's joking. He's rewarded by Tony's ears and neck turning a pretty pink color. "See you at dinner, Tony," he says, more seriously now.

The boy doesn't reply, but he does turn his head just enough to glance at Loki out the corners of his eyes. When he sees Loki looking at him, he lets out a little "Eep!" sound and looks back down quickly. His ears are still fetchingly red.

Loki grins, elated. He hasn't felt this young and carefree since his first girlfriend, back when he was... what, fifteen? They had lasted less than two weeks and he can't even remember her name now, but he sure recalls the feeling. He floats on that same feeling all the way to his room and lies down as he said he would, but he is too pumped to sleep. He finds himself lying awake in the semi-darkness, revising his impression from the day before and, unexpectedly, also his impression from a lot further back

That fateful Wednesday two weeks ago, when Tony was leaning into him, accepting his touch and softening his voice to draw him closer, Loki misread several cues and thought Tony was flirting, until Tony ran away from his touch practically in tears. Then, today at lunch, the thought that Tony might be flirting had crossed his mind again, for he had no other explanations for the boy's coy smiles, his candid jokes, his dancing eyes. He'd dismissed it out of hand because it made no sense.

But now?

Now he is pretty sure Tony's flirting isn't, after all, just in his head. Perhaps, Loki thinks, it's that Tony is so maladapted that he doesn't realize what he's doing. And yes, well, where exactly could he have learned what casual flirting looks like? Not from his parents, certainly; not from what Tony said they are like. (In fact, Loki thinks the only thing keeping them married is appearances.) Not from his peers either, for he has none.

His intellectual peers are all three or four years older than him and they have already established themselves as sexual people. They flirt with purpose now, to signal their romantic intentions; none of that harmless play-flirting preadolescent children do to test the boundaries of their burgeoning sexuality, to learn what is acceptable or arousing or how they can wrap another person around their little finger. Some of the senior girls are already dating college students; they wouldn't in a million years be interested in flirting with Tony.

His developmental peers would probably bore Tony to tears if he tried to engage them. Loki has contrived to have no experience with them, but he's had lunch in the teacher's lounge often enough to know that the girls around Tony's age are obsessed with singers or actors, and the boys, with dicks, be they in jokes, innuendo and graffiti.

Tony doesn't know the importance of a glance, the impact of a slow smirk, the power that lays in biting his lower lip. He has no idea the messages he sends by sitting closer than he normally would or outright touching Loki, by being open and relaxed, by joking about Loki's designs upon his body, by murmuring instead of talking in a normal volume. Something in Tony recognizes that he likes Loki and enjoys his company. Except Tony has no idea how to show it without making it look like flirting.

This feels strangely reassuring to Loki. Now that he's pretty certain that his mind isn't playing tricks on him, he can know to expect Tony's unpolished attentions and arm himself against them.

Though, if he's being entirely honest with himself, he doesn't think he can defend against Tony's lovely hugs.

Still recalling the feeling of the warm little arms around his waist, the small body trembling slightly against his side, it's easy for his foggy brain to conjure up other situations where Tony might hold him like that. He fights with it, trying to hammer the notions out of his head, and spends the time turning in his bed trying to sleep.

* * *

He gives up around the two-hour mark, opting instead to read something until dinner. He climbs down the stairs, spy thriller novel in hand.

Tony is nowhere to be found. He only reappears for supper, which Loki leaves out for him in the kitchen. Instead of eating there, though, he brings his plate and cup of water to the living room and plops down next to Loki.

They watch another movie, a science fiction monstrosity that goes way past 'so bad it's good' that it crash-lands back into 'bad'. They mock the hell out of it; it soon turns into a competition about who can come up with the best insults. Loki would have won it, only by virtue of having more experience chewing people out, except by then Tony is done eating and leaning back more comfortable, all lazy and open and relaxed, and their knees pressing together derail Loki's train of thought supremely well.

At some point, Tony falls asleep, slipping sideways until he's pressed into Loki's side. He's snoring lightly, and Loki doesn't have the heart to wake him up when the movie ends, so he ends up deciding to him to his room.

Taking care not to jostle him, Loki gathers the kid into his arms. He's tiny but heave, and his dead weight makes navigating the stairs quite cumbersome. His arms and back are aching like hell when he reaches the boy's bed, but he still turns down the bed before setting him down carefully.

Tucking the boy in is a strange experience in itself. Normally, this sort of situation would end up with Loki's cock tenting his pants and Loki himself debating whether the boy is sleeping deeply enough for him to get away with a bit of groping; instead, all he does is take Tony's shoes off, pull the covers over him and tuck them in around his sides so he won't freeze. Well, he does console himself by pressing a tiny kiss to Tony's hairline, but that's it, and it doesn't even make him hard.

He feels quite proud of his restraint as he undresses for bed and falls asleep with a smile on his face, wondering if he's finally cured.

* * *

**AN: Early as promised! **For those of you not in the loop: I have up to chapter 11 pre-written. Updates are on mondays and thursdays, but if I get 5 reviews for a chapter I'll post the next one early. This time I'm posting early because Shi-Toyu and Zombified419 are two lovely darlings and convinced me to do it... *sigh*


	7. Paradigm Shift

**WARNING:** things go from 0 to 60 in this chapter. If you've been reading for the cute and the character development and are squicked by underage sex, you might wanna get off this wagon after this chapter. Things will hit critical mas soon.

* * *

**Chapter Six: In which things get steamy because the boy is too curious for his own good.**

* * *

Loki wakes up enveloped in warmth, still riding the coattails of a dream in which Tony asked to sleep in his bed after a nightmare. He's smiling as he blinks his eyes open, half expecting to see a mop of hair spilling like ganache over his shoulder and chest where the Tony of his dream laid his head to sleep, securely held in Loki arms. The smile falls upon finding only his pillow there, but only slightly. The mental image still lingers in his mind's eye, and the warmth is very real: his cock is diamond hard, demanding the attention he has denied it for the past two weeks.

Stretching in his bed feels luxurious for the first time in a long while. He's in the mood to rub one off, but he's been living alone far too long to learn to keep quiet while doing it, and the boys is sleeping in the next room. He decides to do it in the shower instead; the rush of water will cover up any noises that escape him.

It's only when he steps into the spray, still lazy and warm with sleep, that he realizes he forgot to shut the door. It's no big deal, though; he's only been closing it for Tony's benefit and it's still too early for Tony to be up and about. Loki prefers to shower with the door open for ventilation, as he has low blood pressure and the heat and steam leave him woozy.

Letting the deliciously warm water trail over his body, Loki takes his time pampering his body. Inspired by his current situation, he revisits the fantasy of giving Tony a bath as he trails the loofa over every inch of his skin, paying special attention to his nipples. '_Just imagining is not monstrous,_' he tells himself. Plenty of people fantasize about doing things they wouldn't actually do, not even if someone paid them. He wonders what Tony's nipples look like — if they are anything like he imagines in his dreams — and how the child would react to Loki stroking them gently.

Sighing in pleasure, he closes his eyes and washes off the conditioner. Since he'll be a while yet in there, he takes the opportunity to put a special product on his hair that makes it soft and glossy. It's slick in his hand afterwards, and eases the way as his hand pulls on his cock. He's standing far enough from the nozzle that the water doesn't fall on his head, and the hot rain on his chest feels like a million trailing fingers. Soon, it washes off the slick and his hand adheres to his cock as only wet skin can, but the sensation of the foreskin gliding over his shaft is just as luxurious. He wonders if the child would like to sit on his lap as Loki strokes his young cock, Loki's own erection pressed firmly into the divide between his firm little buttocks.

Then, unbidden, he sees himself raising Tony by his hips and carefully lowering him onto Loki's cock, impaling him. His knees go so weak he has to lean back against the tiled wall. He closes his eyes tightly, moaning so softly he can barely hear it under the torrent of water. How much preparation would Tony need to take his cock, anyway? Loki bites his lip, imagining his fingers disappearing into Tony. His imagination is so good he can practically feel the boy's warmth around his fingers.

No, wait, he'd start with just one, at first. And before he even tried that, he'd make sure the boy is comfortable and relaxed. Loki sees Tony splayed before him on the bed, legs spread invitingly; sees himself pressing a hundred kisses on his creamy thighs until they are flushed a pretty pink, trailing his mouth up to Tony's balls — which he pictures as hairless yet — and closing his lips around the boy's straining young cock. Would it be small enough fit into his mouth whole? Oh, oh, would Tony be a 'grower' or a 'shower'? And while he's swirling his tongue around Tony's little penis, Loki would take the boy's hands and place them on his hair. Only then, with his nose pressed to Tony's skin, would he circle Tony's asshole with one fingertip, gently pressing in, the boy's lovely keens going straight to his dick…

Loki comes hard, gasping as his balls pump rope after rope of semen onto the shower curtain. He's weak in the knees, teetering like a newborn colt, and he's panting so hard he thinks he's suffocating. Body tingling, he fumbles with the taps and turns on the cold water. The relief is immediate. The hot spray becomes a lukewarm torrent, washing away the extreme heat, and leaving behind only shame.

This is why he never jerks off to fantasies of real children. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth that lingers for hours afterwards.

'_Definitely not cured, then._' Sighing, Loki rinses his hair. He spots the trail of jizz on the plastic curtain and growls, wanting it to disappear. What if he'd forgotten it there and Tony saw it? Angry at himself, he snatches the loofa from its hook and rubs at the stain until it dilutes enough to be invisible. Only then does he recall that Tony may very well be using the loofa too. The thought of the child scrubbing himself with it, unknowingly rubbing Loki's cum all over his skin, makes him whimper, and he decides to dump this one in the trash.

'_What a way to start the day,_' he thinks as he steps onto the floor mat, dripping with water. He grabs the towel a little forcefully, still angry that he let his body get the better of him yet again, and dries his skin roughly enough that the red is not entirely caused by overheating. As he dries his hair, he decides he'll make French toast for breakfast, or whatever is Tony's favorite. Even though the kid will never know, Loki feels the mighty need to make up for using him as wank fuel. Maybe pizza for lunch, too… Yeah, pizza might be a good way to spoil him.

Decision made, he turns around to find his clothes… and discovers he didn't bring any in his hurry to masturbate.

Fuck. '_Well done, Loki_,' he praises himself sarcastically. Whatever. He holds the towel around his waist loosely, thinking he'll just make a run for his bedroom. The kid isn't even awake anyway, so it's not like it's such a terrible blunder. He reaches towards the door—

A bleary-eyed Tony walks in, yawning, and his eyes widen upon seeing Loki there.

—and freezes. The blood turns to ice in his veins. "Tony?" he gasps, still as a statue. His hair sticks wetly to his face and neck, dripping with water. The breeze coming in from the open door makes his skin break out in goose bumps .

The boy is equally as still. Then his eyes travel downwards of their own volition, following a droplet of water that drips down from Loki's hair to be absorbed by the towel at his waist.

Loki feels the gaze like a physical touch. It's a good thing he just finished blowing his load all over the shower, or else he fears he might be getting a stiffy from it. "Tony?" he asks again, more forcefully, calling the child to attention.

The boy yelps, his eyes flying to Loki's before plummeting to the floor. His face turns red. "Pe-Pervert," he manages, his hands worrying the edge of his rumpled shirt. "I need to pee," he adds in a thin, thin voice.

What must Loki look like right now, he wonders, all naked, tall and broad-shouldered as he is? Imposing? Frightening? He dearly hopes he doesn't look dangerous. At least Tony is still clothed. He mutters, "I was just leaving," and takes a step towards the doorway, expecting Tony to move aside and let him through.

The child jumps back instead, eyes wide. His shoulders are up to his ears again; long gone is the comfortable ease of last night. "Don't!" he squeaks.

Loki is _horrified_. The child is still _this_ scared? "I won't touch you," he reassures softly and moves back a step. The fantasy from just moments before invades his mind. Had he daydreamed of forcing Tony? He thinks furiously, running it through his mind. No. No; even at his dirtiest and most perverted he'd made sure that the imaginary Tony was comfortable and feeling good. He blushes, recalling how sweetly the boy in his fantasy had crooned his pleasure. "I told you, Tony. I won't lay even a finger on you without permission."

Tony exhales shakily, relaxing. Apparently regaining his balance, he grins cockily and says, "I knew that." He nods once, as if to strengthen the impression. His eyes stare at Loki's waist and he licks his lips nervously.

Looking down to see what's caught his attention, Loki spots the towel hanging on for dear life, his hipbones exposed. "Oh." Oops. He can't believe his luck that he didn't drop it completely. Conscious that Tony is watching, he hitches up the terrycloth, careful not to flash the boy.

With a sudden intake of breath, Tony looks up at Loki. "I heard you get up ages ago," he says, eyes slightly wide as though he's just realized something. "Were you masturbating? Is that why you took so long?" he demands, his eyes staring at Loki intensely, his mouth a straight line. The expression on his face isn't exactly anger or accusation… Actually, he looks much like a cop might while interrogating a reticent suspect.

Loki's heart stutters. "Um," he says, not knowing how to follow that. What is Tony angling for here, exactly? "That is none of your business." He hopes his blush is not too noticeable.

The corner of Tony's mouth turns up into a small smirk. "It is if you were thinking of me while you did it." He arches an eyebrow defiantly, just daring Loki to lie and say he didn't just jacking off him.

A convulsive swallow later, Loki still has no idea what's going on. Should he answer truthfully or should he lie? Does the boy simply enjoy knowing the effect he has on his old teacher or does he have an ulterior motive? '_Well, honesty has brought me this far. Let's see how it works here_,' he decides and looks Tony right in the eyes. "Yes, I was masturbating." He pauses to take a deep breath, hoping he isn't wrong about this. "And you're right, I_ was_ thinking of you."

Tony's eyes glitter and he flushes with pleasure. His shoulders move back, making his chest puff out, and — _oh_. He's _proud_. "Then… you owe me." His tiny pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Like—like a toll, or something." He's standing on the balls of his feet, ready to pounce. "For picturing me."

Oh, dear. "Fair enough," Loki replies. The warmth in his face isn't fading and he knows he's still blushing. He feels dizzy; he blames it on the shower. "I had been planning on repaying you with pizza, but I take it you have something else in mind?" He's breathing fast, he observes. That explains the tightness in his chest. The cold droplets trickling down his back from his hair aren't helping.

The boy's eyes drop down to Loki's towel again. "Yeah, pizza is good, but…" He shuffles his feet and bites his lip, as it reticent to spit it out. But at last he speaks, tentative: "I want to see your dick." His gaze is stuck somewhere on the vicinity of Loki's treasure trail.

Loki feels it like a physical blow to his stomach. Abruptly, his lungs are too small to get in all the air he needs. He must have been struck by lightning, because even _that_ is more probable than the object of his sick perversions asking to see him naked. "…What?"

Tony's eyes flit around the bathroom, never settling on anything. "Erm. I'm just curious, you know? Just curious." He blushes and looks down. "I—I don't take PE, since I'm so small, so I don't go to the lockers. Um." He licks his lips again; they move as if he's essaying what to say next. He steels himself. "Everyone says porn lies. I wanna know what a proper dong looks like." He takes a step closer to Loki. "Show me."

'_Dong,_´ Loki parrots in his head. '_My dong._' A bubble of laughter swells his chest, or maybe it's his frantically beating heart. He is paralyzed. He's never before had the all-consuming urge to flash people of any age; at least not before this very moment. But Tony just admitted to watching porn — will he find Loki's penis _inadequate_? His dick's length when flaccid is completely unimpressive... '_Oh, God, what I am even_ thinking_?'_ he wonders, feeling incredibly naked all of a sudden. Is he seriously considering doing this?

The boy is closer now, so close their toes are only about a foot apart. His eyes are burning with curiosity and something else Loki cannot place. "Please?" he asks sweetly, resting his hand on Loki's wrist where he's holding the towel closed. His fingers are so small he can't hope to encircle it.

That, right there? That's Loki's every fantasy come to life. He swallows hard, the _click_ of his glottis echoing in the bathroom, or so it seems to him. Another cold droplet drips down his spine like a warning but he ignores it. He nods.

Tony's grin it absolutely brilliant. He takes a step back, leaning slightly forward on his feet, eyes fixed on Loki's crotch. His mouth parts slightly, as if he's in a gallery waiting for a new masterpiece to be unveiled instead of waiting to see Loki's 'dong'.

A deep breath to calm his straining heart doesn't work; it keeps racing madly. Throwing caution to the wind, Loki grabs both ends of the towel and raises his chin slightly in a show of confidence he doesn't fell. Reminding himself that the boy_ asked_ for it, he pulls the towel open, watching Tony's face.

The look of mesmerized expectation vanishes, to be replaced by a wrinkled nose. "Oh. It's… small and wrinkly." The boy sounds dejected.

Loki, far from taking offense, laughs. A shiver of both cold and excitement wrecks his body, but he keeps it contained. "Were you expecting any different?" he chuckles. "Does yours look any different?"

Tony's ears color red as he shakes his head. "Not really. Well," he amends quickly, "the hair is a surprise. And the skin at the tip." Despite his embarrassment, he's still watching Loki's cock, oddly fascinated. "I thought it retracted or something as you grew older. The pornstars don't have that. Or the hair."

Ah, yes, the boy got his information from _porn,_ of all places. Loki nodded understandingly. "The hair will happen to you too, in about a year tops if it hasn't happened already." He notices his knees are pressing together in a show of nerves and forces his thighs to relax. "The foreskin stays with you all your life, unless it gets cut off." Another droplet of water drips down from his hair, this time on his chest, cold and annoying. Since he figures Tony will want to look his fill, he puts the towel around his shoulders to dry his hair and keep his back warm. It's a big towel; the hem hangs a few inches past his ass. The flaps on the front hide his nipples, which by now are just two dark pink pinpricks on his chest, tight with both cold and arousal.

"Oh," Tony says, brow wrinkled. "Why would it get cut off?" His hands are in his pockets, his shoulders loose. He's comfortable again, which is good, even if Loki is freezing his balls off.

Loki really doesn't feel like explaining infections and circumcision right now. "I'll tell you when I'm no longer naked and shivering, deal?" It comes out a little harsh, so he softens it with, "Why don't we go to my room, where it's warm? We can talk while I get dressed."

Tony freezes a moment, thinking about it. "Your room," he whispers, inhaling a shivering breath. He looks up at Loki and gulps, looking away immediately. "Right. Deal. Let's." He's a bit tense again, but he moves out easily enough. He trusts Loki at his back enough not to need to watch his every move.

'_Oh, thank fuck,_' thinks Loki, whose toes are going numb at this point. He really needs to get a space heater in his bathroom if he's going to start having conversations in it. He huddles in the towel like it's a blanket, feeling slightly less naked.

The walk the few short steps separating them from Loki's door in silence. The boy is ruminating, Loki can feel it; can practically see him turning whatever he's thinking about around and around in his head. When they go inside, Loki makes a beeline for the closet.

The boy follows him, unsure of his place in Loki's domain. "Does your dick grow a lot when you get hard?" he asks out of the blue.

Loki nearly drops the roll of socks he'd picked out. He stares at the back of the closet, wide eyed. Just when he thought he'd dodged the bullet… "Yup," he replies. He thinks, again, of the boy's hands around his erection, and his hand shakes slightly. He grips the socks to make it stop. If the boy doesn't change the subject, he'll find out first hand exactly how much it grows.

"How much larger?" Tony's voice is a lot closer than before. "Mine doesn't grow a lot, but it gets really thick," he says proudly.

Trying (and failing) not to imagine what Tony's little cock looks like, Loki chances a glance in his direction, only to see him poking through his collection of ties. '_Curious little shit_,' he observes with amusement, letting him explore. "Um, it gets to around seven inches," he says, trying and failing not to imagine what their cocks would look like side by side, rubbing together. He shakes his head and picks out some underwear.

"Wha—? Tony sputters. He has one of Loki's ties — a still-brand-new golden _mistake_ Odin gave him for Christmas five years ago — slung around his neck, untied. "But, but," he blinks wildly, "it's so _small_." He looks at Loki's crotch, hidden in the confines of the towel, with an arched eyebrow.

Ah, yes. '_That's what they all say,_' Loki thought, amusement growing. He hasn't had many lovers in his life, considering how few adults fit his tastes, but they all gape like idiots when they see his dick getting hard. "It's called being 'a grower'," he comments idly, riffling through his drawers for comfortable jeans. "And you, from what you said, are a _show_er. That's when the penis is roughly the same length hard and flaccid." He drapes a grey pair over his forearm. "You're blocking the shirts," he informs the boy.

"Oh!" Tony jumps aside. "Sorry." He's mostly silent while Loki picks a shirt, except to point out that red is a horrible color on Loki and that he should pick out the green one instead. "That one," he says, reaching around Loki to tap it with his finger.

The towel, damp and slightly worn with years of use, is all that separates the child from his skin, so Loki can feel the warmth on the side of his leg and around half of his waist. He goes still for a moment, feeling heat of another kind prickling in his lower belly, and hopes he won't end up demonstrating the concept he just taught Tony. He regains his wits and steps aside just far enough that they aren't touching anymore and takes the shirt Tony picked out for him. "Why don't you go sit on the bed?" he asks the boy to get him out of the way.

Tony shrugs. "Okay." He climbs onto the bed happily enough, sitting cross-legged near the edge and watching Loki avidly.

Feeling much like he imagines an animal in a zoo might feel like, Loki hesitates before grabbing the antiperspirant. Getting it on while keeping himself covered with the towel will be tricky, and he has no interest on letting Tony see his flat and hairy ass. In the interests of keeping what little is left of his dignity, he shifts the towel so that it's around his waist. His hair is now falling in cold half-wet ropes that stick to his neck and shoulders. Yuck. He grabs the antiperspirant roll-on and applies it.

"What's that?" Tony asks from the bed. His head is tilted slightly to the left. Adorable. "Is that deodorant?"

"Roll-on deodorant, yes," Loki explains as he finishes putting it on, wondering privately who the hell buys Tony's toiletries if the kid doesn't know what roll-on is. Wait. "Oh. I forgot to buy you deodorant." Well done, Loki.

The child laughs, rocking back and forth in his mirth. He's grabbing his ankles to keep his balance.

Loki can only think of how those ankles would fit in his hands as he pulls Tony's short legs ap—no. He shakes his head and concentrates. Tony's response is completely disproportional to Loki's question, so he just arches an eyebrow at Tony as he approaches the bed with his armload of clothes.

Tony finally gets himself together. "I have my own." The tail of a giggle escapes him and he covers his mouth with his fist. "Put it in my bag when I left home." He gives Loki a wry smile. "I'm not _that_ poor a planner, you know?"

Loki huffs a laugh through his nose, shaking his head. "I shall expect more from you, then," he grins. Picking up his boxers, he considers the logistics of putting them on under the towel and decides not to. What the hell, the boy has already seen everything, right? Right. Licking his lips, he undoes the towel and lets it fall.

Tony's hand reaches out in the direction of his crotch.

Loki catches it automatically — reflexes honed by years of being a teacher and dealing with unruly adolescents — and glares daggers at the boy. "What's this?" he demands, tightening his grip.

Tony lets out a pained groan and tries to twist his arm out of Loki's grasp. "Ow, ow, I just wanted to touch it," he whines indignantly. "Let me go!" His eyes are flashing with anger.

Mouth dropping open, Loki stares the kid down. "Really now?" His nostrils flare as he tries to keep his temper. "And how would _you_ feel if I just up and groped you, huh?"

The fight goes out of the boy. "That's different," he mutters stubbornly, turning his face away. "_You_ are a pervert. You'll enjoy it if I touch you." His cheeks go rosy, but his mouth is a tight line. "I won't."

Disappointed, Loki shakes his head and lets go of Tony's hand. "Are you a mind-reader, then, that you know so much about me?" he asks, arm akimbo. He's still completely naked and towering over the boy; he must be intimidating.

Tony shrugs sullenly and mutters, "No, but—"

"But nothing!" Loki shouts.

The boy flinches, ducking his head.

Loki's hot with anger and righteous indignation still, but he can see he's frightening the boy. He softens his voice when he speaks next. "Tony, listen. It's not just me who can't touch you without permission. No one can." He sighs and, against all better judgment, lays his hand heavily on Tony's shoulder. He can feel the muscle there quivering with tension. "The same applies to me. Or anyone, really."

Uncurling, Tony looks up at Loki. His face is serious. "Never without permission," he parrots. Then he looks at Loki's hand on his shoulder and back at him.

Just to prove his point, Loki takes it back, even though he doesn't want to. "Certain touching is considered okay, like tapping on someone's shoulder or arms to get their attention." He picks up the ends of the ugly, ugly tie Tony stole and ties it into a half-Windsor knot as he talks. "For people who know each other, the possibilities are more. A clap on a shoulder, a ruffling of hair, sometimes a hug…" He finishes the knot and pulls away again. "There are small, safe touches people share without noticing too much."

The boy takes the tie in his hands and examines it. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Humans are gregarious animals, blah, blah, Discovery Chanel." He runs a hand through his hair and looks up, chewing on his lower lip. "Loki, can—can I touch your dick?"

Loki swallows audibly. He weights the possible outcomes of this in his head, considering what the appropriate sane-adult response would be and dismissing it entirely. This thing he has with Tony is too intimate; it's too late for the normal-person approach. And truth be said, he _wants_ this. If only to know, just this once, what a child's small, warm hands would feel like on his skin. He sighs, his stomach fluttering. "Alright." He lets his hands drop to his sides, giving the boy free reign.

Tony flashes him a smile before washing it off his face, like he can't believe his luck but he knows better than to push it. "Thanks," he says sincerely, moving closer to the edge of the bed to do this more comfortably. He gingerly picks up Loki's short limp dick between two fingers and pulls the foreskin back, exposing the moist glans to his almost clinical gaze.

It's very, very difficult for Loki to keep his hands where they are. He longs to take Tony's hand in his and press it harder against himself; to rub it on his crotch until Tony's wonder is caused by feeling his dick grow like magic, long and thick under his fingers. He restrains himself by breathing shakily and clenching his jaw.

Tongue sticking out from between his lips, Tony cups Loki's hairy balls with his other hand. "Big," he mutters. "And heavy." Looking up as if to check if it's still okay — Loki can see how his pupils have dilated, how his skin has flushed — he rolls them around in his warm, warm fingers. He releases the limp, uninteresting penis in favor of bouncing them in his hand and making them swing back and forth. He looks completely fascinated.

When he starts to feel a stirring like heat uncoiling in his gut, Loki stops him. "That's enough," he says breathlessly, covering Tony's hand with his own. "Please, no more." Resorting to begging, already? He feels pathetic.

But Tony stops. "Okay." He puts his hands in his lap. "Thank you."

'_How polite and civilized_,' Loki thinks, bemused, before noticing that Tony isn't sitting like before. No, now he's crossing his legs at the thighs, as if… As if hiding an erection._ Oh._ "You're welcome," he replies, grinning, and puts on his boxers. He feels instantly more confident — ah, the wonders of being clothed — and decides to tease the kid. "Think you might let me touch yours?" He asks playfully, grinning.

Tony's eyes go absolutely huge on his rapidly reddening face. He shakes his head furiously. "No. Nope. Mm-mm." His hands cover his crotch more obviously.

Loki takes pity on him. "Well then. I'll get dressed and make us breakfast." He puts on his socks, balancing casually on each foot. "Why don't you take a shower and come down afterwards?"

Taking the out for what it is, Tony nods eagerly. "Great idea, Pervert," the boy exclaims, clapping Loki on the shoulder once before jumping off the bed. "See you in fifteen minutes," he says as he runs off, his voice fading as he goes out into the hallway.

Chuckling knowingly, Loki sits on the bed, still warm from Tony's body, and slides his pants up his legs.

A knock comes from the door.

Loki looks up, wondering what the boy wants.

Tony's poking his head in. "Hey, can we have eggs and bacon?" he asks excitedly.

"Yeah, sure," Loki replies, arching and eyebrow and shooing him away with a gesture.

"Yay!" The boy's head and shoulder disappear, only to reappear moments later. "By the way, thanks for letting me touch your balls." He vanishes for good this time.

Pausing in doing up the zipper, Loki gapes at the threshold before shaking his head. '_Crazy child_,' he thinks fondly, doing the button and grabbing the green shirt. It turns out to be a turtleneck, which is great. As he's putting it on, something occurs to him and he pulls the turtleneck down over his chest hurriedly, before breaking into a run.

The door of the bathroom is locked, understandably.

He knocks, hoping the kid will hear him over the water. "Tony?" he shouts, face practically sticking to the door. "Don't use the loofah!"

No reply; or at least no reply that he can hear.

Loki wonders what to do. Should he keep knocking and shouting? Try to break the door open? He comes up empty. There's nothing he can do except hope that Tony doesn't use sponges when showering. A little giggle bubbles up in his throat and he bites his finger to stifle it. Well, what Tony doesn't know won't hurt him, right?

Oh dear. His face feels like he has a strong sunburn. He presses his relatively cool fingers to his cheeks, wondering one last time if he should try knocking again before dismissing the idea. He'll probably disturb Tony's own masturbation session, and then the boy will be snippy all day. Lips twitching, he turns around and goes back to his room to fetch his slippers.

He has a feeling he'll be making eggs and bacon for breakfast for a long, long time.

* * *

**AN: Early again! **This time we can thank the lovely witlee for review numero cinco!


	8. Slippery Slope

**Chapter Seven: In which Loki has fallen and he can't get up.**

* * *

During breakfast, Tony speaks little and looks at his plate. He eats heartily, at least, instead of picking at his food, even going as far as to demand another serving of bacon before vanishing into his room to do God knows what.

Loki debates going after him, but then makes the executive decision to let him process what happened earlier. He needs to buy groceries anyway, as he forgot he was buying for two last time, so he gets in his car and goes to town.

He bumps into Bruce Banner and wife in the store; or rather, his cart bumps into theirs on the way to the registers. Betty, with that supernatural sense all women seem to have, pinches his cheek and tells him he looks happier and more relaxed, and asks him very pointedly when he'll be bringing his new girlfriend or boyfriend to her yoga classes. Bruce, correctly reading Loki's half-panicked glance, reminds her that Loki nearly pulled a muscle the last time he took one of her classes and so he won't be coming _ever_, which Betty answers by recommending Loki a colleague of hers that teacher classes for beginners.

Loki leaves the store with a smile, a phone number, and four bags of groceries; one of which contains an economy-sized package of Tony's preferred brand of cherry lollipops. Those, he bought to pamper the kid and give him a taste of something familiar — and definitely not to fuel his own (already quite sickening) fantasies, although he imagines Tony's face will be truly memorable when figures out what goes through Loki's head whenever he sees him sucking on a lolly.

With this cheerful mental image, he gets into his car and turns it on, intending to go home. Then he recalls that Christmas is on Sunday and misses a turn.

How the _hell_ is he supposed to find a gift for Tony in two and a half days?

Flustered, he stops the car and rolls down the window, sticking his head out to breathe. The sharp wintry air abrades his nostrils, but it clears his head. He rolls the window up right after, feeling chilled, and huddles in his seat.

At least the car is warm.

'…_Wait a minute,_' Loki thinks, pausing in rubbing his hands together in front of the heating vent. Warm. The air coming out is really warm; bordering on hot, actually. It's a bit early for a Christmas miracle — not that he believes in those anyway — and he knows for certain that he hasn't taken the old Volvo to a mechanic.

Math says that somehow, against all odds, Tony must have something to do with this.

"Oh," Loki breathes. "So that's where he's been whenever I couldn't find him." He thought he's understood the kid was smart; evidently, he had not fully grasped just _how _smart. He's not sure whether he should feel awe that the child already knows enough to fix his car, sad that the boy was apparently so bored he resorted to fixing the car as entertainment, or just melt into a puddle of goo because Tony remembered his faulty heating. "Smart little brat," he whispers fondly, patting the console.

Idly turning down the temperature, he supposes a set of welding tools would make an excellent present. Unfortunately he has neither the knowledge nor the funds to procure them. What could Tony possibly need or want for Christmas? A new pair of wooly socks? How about proper pajamas instead of Loki's old shirt? A hug? Loki would gladly give him on for free if Tony allowed it; multiple times a day, too.

A teddy bear. No; that's ridiculous. And yet the idea stays in his head like relatives during holidays, vying for his attention and refusing to go away.

Sighing at his silliness, Loki starts the car and drives to Build-A-Bear.

* * *

Loki arrives home at around one in the afternoon. He unloads the groceries first, just in case Tony is around. He wants Tesla — the teddy bear which he decked out in the white shirt and jacket characteristic of pictures of the great inventor — to be a surprise, after all.

The boy assaults him the second he hears Loki is home. "Where the fuck have you been?" he demands, holding onto the doorframe as he pokes his head into the garage. "I'm_ hungry_." Then he looks down and mumbles, cheeks red, "And I need you to show me how to use the washing machine."

Loki's eyebrows climb up to his hairline. Tony has had no problems so far letting Loki do his laundry. Why the sudden modesty, did he wet the bed? Or — _oh._ That. "Sure. Just let me put these away." He indicates the bags in his arms and the trunk. "Come help me unload." Good thing the bear and the cheap set of drafting tools he got as a backup gift are lying on the passenger seat.

Still pink around the ears, Tony approaches cautiously and reaches into the trunk and to pull out the two remaining bags. He peers into them with his characteristic curiosity. "Oh, hey, cherry pops. My favorites!" he observes, a grin spreading on his face. "These for me?" he asks Loki, looking pleasantly surprised. Like getting random treats for no reason never happens to him.

"Yup," Loki replies cheerfully, guiding them to the kitchen. "I saw them and realized I don't have any sweets around here." He puts his bags on the counter and begins unloading the foodstuffs that need attention. He didn't worry about leaving them in the trunk while prowling the city for gifts since it's so cold outside, but the interior of his house is pretty warm. "And I remembered seeing you with those in particular."

Tony helps unload without Loki needing to ask. The first thing he takes out, though, is the bag of lollipops; he opens it and pops one into his mouth to suck at while he sorts the groceries into need-fridge-ASAP and can-sit-out-with-no-problem. "Thanks," he slurs, the stick poking straight out from between his lips, and slurps wetly around the ball of hard candy.

Loki nearly drops the carton of eggs. '_Fuck, Child, you'll be the death of me,_' he thinks as he takes a deep breath and shakes the sound out of his head. The lollipop visible through Tony's teeth is almost the exact shade of Loki's glans when he's almost painfully aroused; he's regretting buying the candy now. "You're welcome," he says; it comes out breathier than he planned on.

"Uh, are you okay?" Tony asks, holding a cut of beef awkwardly in one hand, his lips pursed around the white stick.

'_Misdirect, now!_' Loki tells himself urgently. He gives the boy a quick smile. "Yeah, fine. By the way," he picks his cold groceries up and goes to the fridge, "nice job with the car's heating." Opening the door, he starts putting everything inside to his liking, holding out his hand for whatever Tony is carrying. "Why didn't you say anything?"

The cold chunk of cow lands in Loki's palm. The child shrugs, a small smile on his lips. "If I'd asked, you wouldn't have let me." He looks down at his shuffling feet. "Nobody wants a kid tinkering with their machines." The line of his mouth turns sour. "Howard always kicks me out of his workshop and shouts at me if he finds out I've been there." He sucks on his pop pensively for heartbeat or two, his eyes narrowing sullenly. "Even though I always make sure to know what I'm doing."

Loki is liking Howard less and less every time Tony opens up about him. Should he say something? Yes. Definitely. Frowning, he straightens and closes the door of the fridge. "No offense, but your father must either be very stupid or very blind not to see what a treasure you are."

Tony blinks up at him several times, his mouth a small 'O'. The lollipop hangs on for dear life. Suddenly, he inhales sharply and avers his eyes. "My father is a great man. Everyone says so."

Loki's heart breaks a little. The child is defending him still? He recalls himself at that age, rationalizing Odin's partiality towards Thor as being his own fault, wishing and trying to be good enough, clever enough, responsible enough… Trying to win a game that was rigged from the start. All that wasted effort trying to win the love of a man who wasn't even his real father. No wonder, then, that he had ran away the second he discovered he is adopted.

Shaking his head slowly, he puts his hand on Tony's shoulder and says, deadly serious. "He may be a great man, but that doesn't mean he's a good man. Or a good father." He squeezes reassuringly and gives him a gentle smile. "When a man can't see a lit candle, you don't blame the fire for not burning brightly enough. You assume the man is blind."

Tony stared at him for a couple of seconds, looking like desperately wanted to believe Loki. Then the moment passed and he turned his face with a bitter frown, shaking Loki's hand off. "What would _you_ know?" he says, glaring at the corner of the counter.

Oh, right. Teenagers and their ridiculous belief that only _they_, out of six-point-five billion human beings, could possibly be feeling this way; so _sure_ no one understands. Loki smirks, but it's a hollow, brittle thing. "More than you could guess. At least you don't have golden older brother as living _proof_ that your father can love his sons." The words cut his throat to ribbons on their way out. "At least you don't have to _watch_ as your father never comes to your school plays or your parent-teacher conferences, or—or forgets your birthdays. And meanwhile, he—he buys your brother a brand-new car when he turns sixteen and offers to pay his tuition _without being asked_. And you beg, you literally go down _on your knees_, and still the only reason he paid my tuition was because Thor signed up for the military and told him, _told him_ they'd cover it, and so he should pay mine." His voice is hoarse and his throat burns.

Tony's regarding him with wide, wide eyes. "Oh. That's…" He trails off, his mouth flapping soundlessly.

Breathing unsteadily, Loki feels something tickling his cheek and swipes violently at it. His hand comes off wet. "Sorry. I thought I was over that." He laughs wetly and shakes his head at himself. Oh, how stupid he is. "Obviously not."

"Are—are you _crying_?" Tony asks, disbelief plain on every line of his body.

Lifting his glasses out of the way, Loki dries his other eye and inhales deeply. "Yup. What, did you think adults don't cry?" He rubs his palm over his face for a little privacy while he composes himself.

The boy is still gawking at him. "Uh. Yeah." He scratches his ear. "Crying is for little kids." He bites his lips and looks from side to side, as if wondering what to do now. "Do you, like, want a hug?"

Loki can't help it, he laughs and ruffles Tony's hair. "Nah, I'm good now." He exhales loudly and he can practically feel all the negative emotions rushing out of him with the used air. "But thanks." Just because he can, he ruffles Tony's hair again.

"Hey! Stop that!" Tony complains, pulling his head away and pushing at Loki's chest with his little hands. When he looks up, though, he's grinning. "Crybaby," he taunts.

'_Oh, really? You want to go there?_' Loki thinks playfully. "Oh, no, I'm a _crybaby_," he gasps, putting the back of his hand to his forehead in theatrical dismay. He drawls, "I guess I'll be too busy _crying in my room_ to show you how to work the washing machine." He shrugs with both palms facing up, elbows at his waist, and starts walking out of the kitchen, humming.

A gasp. "Don't you dare!" Tony yells, running after him.

* * *

They leave Tony's sheets and clothes washing while they fix themselves some lunch. Loki doesn't mention the endearing blush Tony had on his face as he brought his sheets to the laundry room and stuffed them himself into the washing machine, and Tony doesn't mention Loki's little breakdown. It's a nice truce.

Later, Loki asks Tony if he wants to put up the Christmas tree. He hasn't done it yet because he was waiting for Thor, as they always did it together, but then Thor didn't come and Loki was too out of it to remember. Besides, he's not a believer and only celebrates Christmas because it's a nice tradition, so why would he put a tree up when there would be no gifts under it?

Tony agrees at once.

They clean up together, chatting amiably about safe subjects like chemistry and the theory of orbitals, delving slightly into quantum physics, and then Loki goes to the basement to get the beat-up plastic tree and the ornaments. Tony complains that it's not a _real_ tree, and in his house they always have _real_ trees, until Loki tosses box of red and gold orbs at him and tell him to shut up or there will be no tree at all.

The imitation tree is scraggly in patches and a bit crooked, and it smells faintly of damp. They set out to pretty it up in stubborn silence, both of them annoyed at each other and the whole Christmas mess. If they don't like the way the other has hung an ornament, they just shift it to its 'proper' place. If it's ever done a bit violently, well, neither of them say anything. In fact, they only talk to argue about who should be the one to put the star at the top. Tony wins, citing that he wouldn't be here spending Christmas with a crappy tree in the first place if it weren't for Loki; Loki merely shakes his head at him, mutters, "That defense won't work forever," and gets him a ladder.

The tree looks rather full by the end, but at least it's tilting away from the fireplace, so Loki decides to call it a job and put the laundry on the clothesline to dry. Since the argument over the fake-ness of the tree is moot anyway, Tony capitulates and follows him, demanding with a slight blush to be the one to hang his clothes. Loki helps him with the fitted sheet; he shows Tony how to arrange them so they're easier to fold later, and Tony watches attentively. It doesn't take long and, when they are done, Loki asks Tony if he wants some hot chocolate.

The kid lights up like the Christmas tree in the living room and yells "Last one is a rotten egg!" before _zooming_ out into the hallway. This is exactly why Loki can't stay mad at him. The boy is so charming when he's caught unaware that it more than makes up for the moments when he's a little shit.

Some fifteen minutes later, they curl up on the sofa with their mugs of hot chocolate (with added marshmallows for Tony). Tony is sprawled next to Loki, trying to beat his high score in Snake on the little Nokia. He's got a long way to go; whenever he loses, he goes red in the face and gets the most adorable pout going on, which amuses Loki to no end. Loki, meanwhile, is creating brand new homework for the kids on his computer, which he's got sitting on a tray on his lap.

The poor old Toshiba — it's been Loki's loyal ally in torturing students since Windows XP was still the new thing— overheats something fierce, and the living room is toasty warm thanks to the fireplace. Loki finds himself taking off his sweater and folding it over the armrest.

"Gah!" Tony growls, throwing Loki's cellphone at the empty armchair. "Fucking—_fuck!_" He punches the cushion he's seated on.

Loki smirks and tries not to snicker. He fails; this, in turn, means that he botches the equation he was just editing. It only make his snickers turn into chuckles.

"Shut up, Pervert," the boy grumbles, crossing his arms and tucking his chin to his chest. "How the hell did you even get a score like that?!" He blows a long raspberry to let out some steam.

How can Loki tell him that he plays Snake as a meditative exercise whenever his sickness is particularly strong? That he's got as many hours of practice as he has hours he's spent sitting in park benches or sports field bleachers; hours of playing the dull, repetitive game instead of watching children around Tony's age run around and laugh and show off their limberness, cheeks red and hair sticking to their temples?

He can't.

Loki blinks out of a thousand-yard stare and clears his throat. "Lots and lots of practice. What do you think I do while you sit tests?" he rasps, nodding along to his own little white lie. He hopes Tony will chalk up the heat of Loki's cheeks to the fire.

Tony shrugs. "I dunno. Watch us so we don't cheat?" He holds the mug — it looks huge on his small hands — to his face and blows on it before taking a tiny sip.

Suddenly, Loki remembers that Tony hasn't left his house since he arrived nearly a week ago. '_If you keep it that way,_' the traitorous part of his brain suggests giddily, '_he might get Stockholm syndrome._' The rest of his brain is revolted. He forces himself to take a sip of chocolate milk to chase the nausea away. God help him. He blinks back to the present. "I don't need to watch you people to know when you cheat," he drawls.

Hiding behind the mug, Tony narrows his eyes at Loki. "If you say so." It's clear that he doesn't believe Loki but it willing to play along.

Ah, students think they're _so smart…_ Loki smiles privately. "I say so." He puts the mug down on the tray, next to the battered Toshiba, and finishes the equation. He feels a weight shifting the sofa's cushions; he doesn't need to look to know that Tony is walking closer on his knees.

Laying a hand on Loki's shoulder for balance, the boy leans in to look at the screen. "_Show that mass one over mass two equals the square root of g times the length_," he mumbles, almost into Loki's ear. "But we're already finished with this section. Aren't we?" The puffs of warm breath fans over Loki's skin like a caress.

Loki suppresses a shiver; his arms break into goosebumps. His neck feels abruptly very naked and vulnerable, so close to the brat's mouth and hair. "_You_ are," he replies as casually as he can, shifting slightly to make more room for Tony. His nearness might be driving him crazy, but it's the innocent kind of nearness and the good kind of crazy. "However, I also teach B Physics to Juniors next semester."

Taking the unspoken invitation, Tony curls up next to him, tucking his feet under himself and leaning into Loki. "Well, at any rate, you're wrong, Pervert," he announces, sounding perfectly satisfied with himself. He points at the side of the equation with the square root. "It's supposed to be the square root of _twice_ g times L."

Loki pushes his glasses up his nose and peers at the screen. "Huh. So it is." Instead of telling Tony that he'd distracted him, turns to look at the boy.

Tony is looking back, his cheek pressed to Loki's arm. He's smiling, full of pride.

It would only take Loki leaning just a few inches to kiss that tiny smile. Loki swallows hard and waves at the computer. "Wanna do the honors?"

Tony perks up immediately. "Sure!" He reaches for the mousepad.

Loki takes his arm out of the way, opting instead to hold it loosely curled over Tony's small shoulders. If he tries hard enough, he can pretend he's hugging the boy.

Pausing to shoot him a knowing look — one that lets Loki know he isn't fooling anyone — but not speaking his suspicions, Tony quickly clicks next to the _g_ and adds a number two. When he's done, he very deliberately leans back into Loki's side and burrows under his arm.

The surprise paralyses Loki's lungs. He grunts and blinks before letting his arm drop. Praying he isn't reading the signs wrong this time, he lets it drape around Tony's back so that his hand rests gently on the opposite shoulder. The weight of his arm pulls the boy just that bit closer, leaving him flush against Loki's side. "Would you like to turn the TV on?" He lets out a contented sigh through his nose.

Tony shuffles a bit before settling. "Nah. Nothing but crappy Christmas specials on right now." He's playing with his fingers with his hands on his lap. "Hey, question for you," he says suddenly, peering up at him through his eyelashes.

Would he look at Loki like that, were kneeling between his legs and sucking—_stop_. "Ask away." Loki's voice comes out throatier than he would like, and his thumb begins stroking Tony's shoulder absently.

Tony sucks on his lips for a few heartbeats, as if unsure if he really should ask whatever is on his mind. "Can you fall in love with adults, too? Or just kids?"

'_Fall in love_,' Loki repeats dumbly in his head. His heart starts thumping harder. Right. He'd forgotten. For a boy Tony's age, love and sexual desire are one and the same. He'll keep that misconception for a few years more… Unless Loki disenchants him now. He thinks of next term, when Tony starts college… And remembers how clueless he himself was when he was sixteen and running away from home; how the man who took him in, the man whom Loki thought he loved, manipulated him through that love.

Remembers speeding down a busy street, swerving to avoid cars and laughing at every close shave, Thanos sitting behind him on the motorcycle while Loki drove, feeling invincible. Remembers the wind pulling at his hair, the hard cock pressed into his ass, the hand down the front of his pants. Remembers the line of coke, all for him, and a cigarette-ruined voice purring, '_You love me as much as I love you, right, Baby?'_ into his ear.

He shivers at the memory.

"Hey." Tony pokes him in the side. "Where did you go?"

Loki inhales gulp of air. "Down memory lane," he breathes, dropping his hand to stroke down Tony's back and up again to ground himself.

The boy squirms, warbling noises of complaint.

Loki stops immediately. "Sorry," he says, but he's not sure if he's apologizing for overstepping his boundaries or for not answering right away.

Tony shrugs, and Loki feels the motion in his armpit and over his ribs. "It's okay," he murmurs, resting more of his weight on Loki.

"To answer your question…" Loki trails off. Yes; yes, he's going to explain the difference. Tony needs to know. "Well. Falling in love with someone and wanting to have sex with someone are… quite different things." He bites his lip, unsure of how to proceed. "I know everyone starts The Talk by 'when two people love each other very much', but that's not an accurate representation of how it works… Why are you laughing?"

Indeed, Tony was snickering quietly, muffling himself on his fist. "Yeah, Pervert, I knew _that. _I watch porn, remember?" His shoulders shook with his mirth. "I know the pizza man doesn't love the babysitter." He giggles some more at Loki's silliness.

"Oh," Loki says, feeling at a loss. His face is burning; he really has no idea what preteens are like, does he? "Well then." He clears his throat. "In that case. Yes. I can fall in love with adults."

Tony hums, smirking mischievously. "But can you get it," his eyes flash down to Loki's crotch, in case his omission wasn't hint enough, "up for them?"

Loki raps the back of his head lightly, wordlessly ordering him to behave. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes." He sniffs. He doesn't like this conversation at all, and lets the brat know by lifting his arm.

He takes the hint at once and pulls away. "Sorry," he says, "I didn't mean to offend you." And he really does look genuinely sorry, wonder of wonders.

Taking pity on him, Loki closes the lid of the notebook and sets the tray on the coffee table. "Too late," he drawls airily, sticking his nose in the air. He stretches and stands up. "I've already forgiven you."

Tony lets himself drop sideways on the couch so that he's lying down and folds his arms under his head. "You're an asshole, you know that?" he says, throwing a leg over the backrest, taking complete ownership of the piece of furniture.

In response, Loki takes the boy's mug, which is three-quarters full and still quite hot. "Oh, really?" He sips it, a part of him wondering if he managed to put his lips where Tony had in an indirect kiss. "Would an asshole take you to the cinema tomorrow to watch King Kong?"

"What?!" Tony sits up so fast Loki thinks he might have given himself whiplash. He stares at Loki with huge, liquid eyes that shine with hope. "Really?"

Loki feels completely disarmed in the wake of that look. "Yeah, really." He hands the boy his mug, not bothering to wipe his spit from the rim, as the stain of the foam will give away where he just drank from anyway. "It's not healthy to be cooped up so long."

The child turns the mug around so that he puts his lips on the clean spot, and sips heartily. When he puts it down again, he has a foam moustache coloring his upper lip. "Thanks," he says, holding the mug up for Loki.

Loki takes it with a gracious nod. Their fingers brush together electrically.

Licking his lips, Tony plops back down with a satisfied sigh and pats his belly. "Remote," orders, wiggling the fingers of his other hand up in the air.

Loki fetches it, but doesn't give it to him right away. "We've been over this, Mr. Stark," he teases, holding the device just out of Tony's grasp. "What's the magic word?"

Tony rolls his eyes. "_Please,_ can I have the remote," he deadpans.

"Well done." Loki drops it into his hand. "There you go." He picks up the tray with the Toshiba. "If you need me, I'll be in my study."

Turning the TV on and resting the remote on his chest, Tony waves him away.

* * *

After dinner — a late one because neither of them got hungry until about nine — Loki returns to his study to Skype with Thor in private. Or at least attempt to; Thor isn't always free at breakfast time. This turns out to be one of those times. He sighs, and then shakes his head at himself. What had he been expecting, really? Thor was training soldiers and fighting a war, not on holiday. He writes his brother an email, asking him to tell Loki when he has free time for Skyping.

When he's about to send it, he hears a knock on his door.

"Come in," Loki says loudly, turning the computer away so Tony won't see the screen and read what he's telling Thor about his new living situation.

The knob turns slowly, Tony pushes hesitantly into the room. He looks around quickly until he locates Loki and remains silently at the doorway, only poking his head and hand inside. He seems uncertain, as if he's remembering what happened the last time he came in here.

Loki swivels his chair to face him. "Can I help you?"

The boy nods and relaxes slightly, stepping into the room. He's wearing only his sleeping shirt, which comes down to about mid-thigh, and socks. "Um." He can't quite look Loki in the eye. "If you don't want to, it's okay," he begins, only to stop and shake his head. "I…" His gaze flits to Loki; he spots Loki watching him and clenches his eyes shut. "Canyoutuckmeinagain?" he asks in a rush.

It takes a few seconds for Loki to untangle the request; the sight of the bare knees and softly rounded calves isn't helping his mental process. When he does, though, he forgets how to breathe. He gets to tuck the boy into bed _twice_? He blinks. "Yeah. Ahem. Yes, sure." He lets his eyes rove over the striking silhouette of the child, so young and vulnerable. He gulps. "Right now?"

Tony nods, letting go of the door and standing aside in a silent request for Loki to come with him.

There's _no way_ Loki's wasting this chance. He closes the lid on the computer and stands up. "Lead the way," he offers softly.

They make their way to the guestroom that has become Tony's room in silence, the boy stopping once to look back over his shoulder, checking Loki is indeed coming. When they reach it, Tony goes in first and hurries to his bed, getting under the covers and turning onto his side. His hair spills over the pillow, fanning out like half a halo.

When Loki approaches him, he finds the boy blushing slightly, watching him with cow eyes, huge and liquid. "Bedtime story?" he asks, just in case.

Tony smiles at him briefly, but shakes his head. "Maybe tomorrow," he murmurs.

'_There's going to be a tomorrow,_' Loki thinks, his chest filling to burst with giddiness. "Okay," he replies, equally softly, and arranges the covers around the boy, literally tucking them under him so the cold air won't get in. Then he turns off the bedside table lamp, leaving them in the dark, except for the light that comes in from the hallway. "Goodnight," he whispers fondly, stroking Tony's hairline.

The boy moves the covers over his face aside with his chin. In the darkness, the only bits of him that Loki can see are his eyes, or rather the glint where the light reflects, and the contours of his face. "Aren't you going to kiss me, like last night?"

Oh. '_He was awake last night_,' Loki realizes, and then feels like hitting himself. Of course he was awake; no one can stay asleep over being carried up a staircase. He licks his lips, feeling his heart picking up the pace. "Do you want me to?" he asks, slightly short of breath.

"Mm-hm," the boy nods against the pillow, closing his eyes.

Loki sits on the edge of the bed, lower back resting against Tony's knees, and puts his hand on the pillow next to Tony's head. He leans in slowly, giving the boy plenty of time to change his mind and also giving himself time to memorize the scene in case it never happens again. Then he presses his lips to Tony's warm forehead and inhales deeply, smelling the scent of his hair. One second and then it's over; he pulls away—

Tony's hand shoots out from under the covers to curl gently in Loki's shirt, keeping him trapped in its gossamer touch.

—Loki freezes. "Another?" he murmurs breathily. His crotch feels warm and tingly, like he's rubbed spicy sauce all over it.

Tony nods, and they are so close his hair brushes Loki's chin. His tiny hand retreats. In a barely audible voice, he says, "On the mouth, this time?" His eyes are still closed; Loki will bet anything his cheeks are red. "Please?"

The words hit Loki's libido like gasoline hits a fire, and it takes a few seconds before he's ready to speak again. "Of course, my sweet child," he whispers. It's too dark and they are too close for him to see, so he just leans down blindly before he can regret it. His lips connect with Tony's temple, and he feathers his lips over the boy's cheek until he finds his mouth.

Tony purses his anticipation like a fifth grader playing spin-the-bottle for the first time. The kiss Loki lays on them is little more than a chaste peck, completely at odds with the burning in his gut.

When Loki pulls away, Tony makes a tiny sound that will stay with him for years to come. And then, he murmurs, "Again." His minty breath fans over Loki's mouth.

Loki reaches down with his free hand to grab his cock through his pants. He feels like he'll explode otherwise. "Okay," he replies in the same intimate tone, "but don't purse your lips so hard." He leans down again, their noses brushing, and he can actually _feel_ Tony turning his head to meet him halfway, not that there's much distance to cover.

This time the kiss is soft and sweet. Tony's lips are nice and yielding, and their mouths fit together perfectly as they breathe in each other's scents.

Loki lets go of his crotch to cup Tony's jaw and stroke his soft, soft hair with his fingertips.

Moaning softly, Tony breaks the kiss with a tiny _chuick_ of suction, only to start another one right after, just as long and sweet as the last. He's breathing hard; Loki can feel the rapid puffs of air on his cheek.

Loki longs to lick at the seam of his lips and plunder his sweet, sweet mouth, but he pulls away before he can completely lose himself in the sensation. He pants above Tony's mouth a few times, and then, when he's feeling more in control, he asks, "Again?"

Tony shakes his head and buries his face into the pillow.

Lips still tingling, Loki murmurs, "Goodnight," and gets up, carding his fingers through Tony's hair one last time. He can still see just the gleam of the hallway's light reflecting on the curves of Tony's face; he likes to think the boy is smiling.

He closes the door when he leaves the room and leans against the wall. Oh, no, what has he_ done_? He just _kissed the child living under his roof_! He lifts his glasses over his hairline and cups his face in his hands. His hard cock throbs in his overwhelmingly tight jeans, reminding him once more of what a monster he is. _Fuck_. Why is he so fucking _weak_?

Anger boiling in his belly like tar, he stalks into his study and wakes the computer. The email for Thor is still there, unsent, and Loki adds, '_P.S. It's urgent,_' under the '_Love, your brother_.' He presses Send before his cowardliness can conquer him.

* * *

**AN: Early again! **You are spoiling me, guys :D. At this rate, we'll catch up with my writing very soon!


	9. The Talk

**Chapter Eight: In which Loki and Tony lay the cards on the table.**

* * *

Loki lies on his back the darkness, awake. The _4:36_ _a.m._ of his alarm clock floats to his left, the neon green digits the only source of light. His alarm is set for eight, but he can't sleep — _hasn't been able_ to sleep, it feels like, since he went to bed after pacing nervously in his room, wringing his hands and pulling on his hair. His hands are pressed to the middle of his chest, like a corpse, as he stares up into the black. He can feel his heart racing under his fingers, as if his brain and heart continued pacing even though he's forced the rest of his body to rest.

'_Feels just like the night before a final,_' he thinks wryly, thinking of college, of his now ex-girlfriend, of the teachers who encouraged him to follow his dream of being a teacher. He closes his eyes and exhales through his nose. If they had known — if he had told them — about his sick predilection for barely pubescent boys, would they have supported him as much? Would they have believed he could control his urges and pretend to lead a normal life?

The corners of his eyes itch; he swipes at them, brushing away the flaking salty residue. He doesn't remember having cried — but then, he doesn't remember sleeping either, and he must have. It doesn't feel like six hours have passed, yet they have. He can't have been wallowing all this time, can he?

Sighing, Loki gives up on attempting sleep and gets off the bed. He takes his time making it, forlorn, as he ruminates on what to do with the boy. Talk with him? Send him away for his own good? Set him up in a hotel? Take him home? He's been trying in vain to make up his mind since he left Tony's room. He can't decide.

He showers slowly. There is no rush; not even the sun is up this early, and it won't be for another two hours at least.

Loki wants to keep Tony. It's selfish and he can't help it, but it's the truth. He loves Tony dearly, and not all of that love is romantic in nature; he's witnessed the boy practically bloom this last week, going from scared little mouse to confident little shit. He's proud of the child — of his clever quips and hilarious mannerisms, of his times of quiet reflection, of his willingness to talk and his ability to smile — and he's sure that staying with Loki will greatly benefit him.

But at what cost?

Evidently, Loki has somehow convinced the child to pursue some manner of romance with him. He doesn't know how it happened and he certainly hasn't done it on purpose, but the end result is the same: he can't keep his hands off Tony and he has manipulated Tony to enjoy it. The potential psychological scars this will leave on the child frighten him; will Tony ever be able to have a normal, healthy relationship?

When Loki is done dressing, he checks his emails in case Thor has responded. He _has_; Loki nearly weeps when he sees an unread email in his inbox.

The gist of Thor's reply is this: Thor won't be able to Skype until tomorrow afternoon. They've developed something of a code over his years in the army, and Loki gleans from the message that he'll be in a convoy going to another base, which means no internet (it's actually very touching that Thor managed to steal some to reply). The last line reads, '_Loki, is everything okay?'_

Loki replies that no, everything is _not_ okay. He writes down everything that has happened since they last talked; how he found the child homeless, took him in, fed him and cared for him, how they've made peace, how Tony asked to be kissed and how he practically tripped over himself to yield to the temptation. Then he stares at the screen with aching eyes — has he blinked at all as he typed out his diatribe? — and winces. No, he really shouldn't tell Thor all this, not over an email that will most likely be read by whoever is monitoring Thor's mail; he'll wait until they are face to face. He selects all and deletes it, before replying with a generic, '_Mostly. I just need to talk_.'

By then, it's nearly eight in the morning. He might as well make breakfast.

He wants to apologize to Tony and explain that he has somehow managed to brainwash him. He knows the boy won't like that, so he makes pancakes to win his willingness to listen. From scratch, too, since the boy had complained when he made them from a pre-packaged mix. Loki tries to make the pancakes with fun shapes, but the mix is too runny and they just come out looking like formless blobs. At least he doesn't lose any to the stove when he flips them, which makes him feel a little less like a fuck-up.

It's only when he tries to swallows a bite that he realizes he isn't hungry — even the thought of drinking water makes his stomach churn. So now he has a tower of pancakes and half a pot of coffee, and nothing to do with them. The boy won't be awake for another hour at least… Unless Loki takes him breakfast in bed.

The idea startles him. He really shouldn't do it. Invading the boy's room, watching him sleep, shaking him gently awake… He wants it. He wants it so badly his hands shake. He's thought about it before, as another way to pamper the kid, but he'd never felt like Tony would welcome him instead of throwing the hot coffee at his face. Also, the boy had kept his door locked whenever he was in his room.

Loki assembles and disassembles the tray, dithering between what he wants to do and what he ought to do. Finally, he realizes that he won't get this chance ever again; after they talk, the boy will be so horrified with Loki that he'll likely demand to move out on his own. At his point, his stomach falls and he presses his lips together, bent over the tray and watching a trail of maple syrup drip down into the plate.

'_How could I have failed the boy so hard without even noticing?_' he wails into his head, making fists on the counter. He still has no idea how it happened, even after hours of pondering; he hasn't been this confused since he started learning quantum physics… Yet it _must_ be something he did. There is no way the natural progression of his and Tony's entanglement would lead to the boy allowing Loki to kiss him.

He exhales and squares his shoulders, gripping the handles of the tray.

Time to face the music.

* * *

The sunlight that manages to get through the curtains leaves Tony's room in twilight. Once Loki's eyes adjust, he makes his way easily to Tony's bedside. The night stand is empty save for the lamp, so he puts the tray down there. Only then does he even consider taking a look at the boy.

Tony is beautiful when he's asleep. His eyelashes seem longer than ever as they fan over his cheeks. His lips are slightly parted in a way that makes Loki want to wake him with a kiss, like Sleeping Beauty, and his hands look smaller than ever, curled so delicately next to his face. He's breathing almost silently, with just a hint of snore, and his body makes a compact ball under the mountain of covers.

Loki can't help but reach down brush the locks of chocolate-brown hair away from his forehead. He allows his fingertips to graze along the curve of his forehead and cheek lovingly before resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Tony," he murmurs, shaking him away gently, "wake up."

The boy stirs, he eyelids fluttering and his hands twitching. "Mmmm," he groans, slowly blinking his eyes open. "Wha'?" he says, his voice think and grainy with sleep. Then he spots Loki and breaks into a wide, unconscious smile. "Loki," he observes, rubbing the grit out of his eyelids and yawning. "Why'd you wake me?"

Disarmed by Tony's welcome, Loki sits down on the edge of the bed and cups his soft warm cheek, his thumb stroking the boy's fragile eyelids. "I brought you breakfast in bed." He keeps his voice quiet and soft, not wishing to jar Tony any more than he already has.

Tony turns his face into Loki's touch. His eyes are closed again; he looks one second away from going back to sleep. "Wha' did you ma'e?"

"Pancakes," Loki replies, completely mesmerized. Right now, Tony could ask him to jump out the window and he would comply. Why is it that he wants this feeling to stop, again? He can't recall… He strokes Tony's cheek with the back of his knuckles, enjoying the texture of slight fuzz over skin. "I made them from scratch, just for you."

Eyes snapping open, Tony look at him long and hard; his eyes are beautiful, as always, but wholly unreadable. He sniffs audibly, filling his lungs with the scent of recently cooked pancakes and freshly brewed coffee, and smiles again. He sits up, which, as Loki is leaning over him, leaves their faces only two or three inches away. "Just for me?" he whispers, and his breath fans over Loki's face.

'_Morning breath, yuck!_' Loki snaps out of his daze and pulls away, taking his hand back. He abruptly realizes where he is and what he's doing and, horrified, scoots away. '_Fell into his gravity well again_,' he thinks with disgust. "Yep. All for you."

"Yay!" With a joyful grin, Tony throws himself at Loki, curling his arms around him and tucking his face into the crook of his neck.

Loki can feel the boy's nose and mouth against his throat and his hair tickling his ear. The scent from the shampoo and soap have almost faded from the boy's skin, and the sleeping shirt is due for washing today; the smell that envelops Loki right now is as close to 'pure Tony' as it will ever get. His heart pounds as he finally reacts and brings his hand up to Tony's shoulder blade; he's sure Tony can hear his elevated heartbeat.

If he does, he says nothing. Instead, the child happily exclaims, "Thanks!" and tightens his thin warm arm in a brief squeeze. Then he lets them fall and pulls away, and just like that, the moment is over.

All in all, the unexpected hug lasted maybe two seconds; the memory of it, however, will last weeks, possibly months. Loki tucks it into his mental chest of wonders — right between the soft kisses in the dark last night and the first time Tony hugged him — to revisit later, and puts the tray on Tony's lap. "I added a bit of milk to your coffee," he says, distracting the boy.

Tony makes a face at him. "But real men drink their coffee black!"

'_Not this again,_' Loki thinks, rolling his eyes. "No, they don't." Like they haven't had this conversation daily for the past three days. "Real men drink their coffee however they damn well please," he deadpans, shaking his head slowly.

"Yeah, yeah," Tony rolls his eyes too, smiling. "I know, I know, 'only fake men do things a certain way just to prove they are men', blah blah blah." He cuts off a piece of pancake and stuffs it into Loki's mouth. "Shut up."

Loki chews obligingly and mimes zipping his curving lips shut. He even swallows. It's amazing what spending five minutes in the boy's presence does for his appetite. As he watches Tony eat — devour, really, and make a ton of appreciative little noises — with a soft smile refusing to fade from his face, he wonders why something that is so utterly wrong feels so utterly right.

The child is happy, which in turns makes Loki happy… Why should he stop doing it?

'_That_,' he thinks, sobering up. 'That _is exactly why._' He can no longer tell right from wrong unless he stops to think about it. His moral compass isn't just broken; it's spinning uncontrollably at breakneck speeds. How long before he blindly follows it over the edge and does something completely unforgivable?

"Hey," Tony says suddenly through a bite of pancake. "Could you take your hand off my knee? It tickles." He's looking at Loki without reproach, his cheeks puffed out from how full his mouth it.

Indeed, something wiggles under Loki's hand.

He looks down and, sure enough, he sees he'd been leaning in weight on the boy's leg. "Oh. Sorry." He takes his hand away, letting it drape over his lap. Was he in such a hurry to pull away from the boy when he'd sat up that he'd paid no mind to where he put his hand? And to put it on his knee, too… He blanches. "I'm so sorry, I didn't—"

"Oh, it's okay." Tony waves his concerns away with his fork and takes a gulp of coffee to wash the doughy goodness down. "You didn't do it on purpose. And besides," he murders another triangle of pancake and holds the fork up to Loki's mouth, his other hand under it to catch the dripping syrup, "I didn't mind. It just tickled." He waves the morsel enticingly.

Loki opens his mouth and takes it, not exactly feeling better. He needs to watch himself better, or he might actually hurt the boy through an oversight like that one. He swallows. "I…" He doesn't know how to continue, so he stares at his hands in his lap instead.

"You…?" Tony prompts, cutting off another section and stabbing it violently with his fork.

Closing his eyes, Loki bites the bullet. "I wanted to talk to you about that, actually." He takes a deep breath and dries his palms on his trousers. "You must stop allowing me to do things to you."

The clatter of metal on ceramic; Tony has put the fork down forcefully. "_Allowing_ you?" he asks incredulously.

Loki nods and then looks at him. The boy's brows are lowered over his stormy eyes. Shit. "Yes," he says softly, not wanting to anger him further but seeing no way around it. "Sometimes I space off and—and _do_ things. To you." His hands clench. "Without realizing. And I need you to stop me, to give me the wake-up call, because I can't give it myself." He exhales a shuddering breath. "Like when I kissed you last night. You don't have to— to take it, or 'not mind', or—or…" He breaks off, not knowing how to continue.

Suddenly, the tray is in his lap.

Loki scrambles to catch it. "What?" he asks, startled.

"Get out." Tony's voice is the rumble of distant thunder that precedes a storm, and lightning gleams in his eyes. He points at the door with a shaking finger.

Gaping, Loki says, "Tony—"

"Out!" Tony snarls; a dog about to bite.

Loki hops to his feet automatically, but he can't let the conversation end like this. He tries again, in a softer voice, "Tony."

"No!" the boy shouts, making Loki startle. "You woke me up for _this_? To tell—to tell me it's over?" His jaw clenches and he closes his eyes. The tears that have been gathering there overflow and stream down his cheeks. "Well, _fuck you_." He reaches behind himself for his pillow and throws it at Loki.

Aghast at Tony's reaction, Loki freezes, unable to move. Luckily for the contents of tray, it hits his legs instead of his chest, making him yelp. The impact, small as it is, causes the mug to topple over, spilling the coffee that was still inside it. Dumbfounded, Loki stares at Tony.

The boy is kneeling up on the bed, breathing hard. The stormy look hasn't faded; if anything, it's worsened. He looks ready to jump Loki. The message couldn't be clearer.

Loki turns tail and flees.

* * *

'_That went over well,_ ' Loki thinks sarcastically as he rinses the plastic tray. His hands are still shaky with the aftereffects of the adrenaline discharge, but at least his knees are not, so he has that going for him. He's still trying to process what the hell just happened. He can't understand why Tony got so angryhe cried _._ What did he _say_?

Maybe the boy has merely been bottling his feelings each time Loki trespassed against him, too afraid he'd be kicked out, and the dam just _burst_ when Loki told him it was okay to say 'no.' Maybe all the soft smiles and the laughter had only been in Loki's mind or an excellent act on Tony's part; Loki knows for certain that he is far enough removed from thirteen-year-olds that he doesn't know what they look like when they are trying to hide anger and hurt.

And Tony had been both, moments ago; he hadn't even been trying to hide it. The memory of the boy's angry tears still haunts Loki.

Sighing, he turns the tap off, puts the tray on the rack, and pats his hands dry with the dish towel. He doesn't know what to do, other than leave Tony to his thinking, so he falls back on what he always does when he has nothing to do: watch TV.

Sitting progressively lower and lower on his couch, he zaps through all the channels several times; none of the shows can hold his attention past the five-minute mark. He sometimes finds himself fantasizing of going to Tony's room, gathering the upset child into a hug, and take back everything he said, but he culls those images by forcing himself to imagine the emotional wreck Tony would be next year, when he leaves for college. He can't do that to the boy.

After getting bored of the TV, he turns it off and tries reading instead. He has a to-read pile about as tall as his waist, as he keeps buying new books that catch his eye. But either the first three he picks are complete crap or he just can't keep his head in the game. The forth one, a purple thing about the forbidden love between a master swordsman and his apprentice, is similar enough to his own situation that it succeeds in retaining his interest. Well, at least until he reaches about halfway through chapter ten, when the master rapes his student — Loki throws the book at the wall and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Afterwards, he tries every time-killing trick in the book: he checks his messages, plays Solitaire on his computer, starts several argument in internet forums, plays more Solitaire, and stops procrastinating the answering of his mom's email. When he clicks _Send _and checks his watch, he discovers it's time for lunch. He has successfully wasted almost five hours, and he still has no idea what to do about the boy.

Sighing, he makes lunch. At least he's hungry this time, which helps. Figuring Tony still doesn't want to see him — as the boy hasn't come out of his room yet except to go to the toilet, not that Loki has been keeping an ear out for him or anything — Loki eats by his lonesome, then fills a plate for Tony and takes it to his room. Knocking on the door with the corner of the tray, he announces, "Tony, I brought you lunch!"

There's no response at first. Then, a thump, as if Tony threw something at the door. Then, kid's voice, sounding raw as it screams, "Fuck off!" It's obvious the child has been crying.

Loki bites his lip and looks down, heartbroken. Why had he thought coming with him would be a better option for the boy? He is just as upset now as he was when Loki kidnapped him! Loki sighs and shouts, "Okay! I'll leave the food here!"

No answer is forthcoming.

He deposits the tray right outside the door. As he walks away, he can't help but despair of ever making things with Tony right again.

* * *

At about four in the afternoon, Loki recalls that he'd promised Tony they'd go watch a movie together.

Obviously the 'together' part is out, but he thinks maybe Tony wants to go anyway. Or go play in an arcade, or skate in the park, whatever it is kids do nowadays to have fun and make friends. Of course, Tony would have to stand Loki's company for however much the drive lasted, but Loki was pretty sure the child must be going stir-crazy by now and will gladly do it.

When he climbs the stairs into the hallway, he sees that the plate and glass on the tray are empty and sighs in relief. '_At least Tony isn't so upset that he can't eat,_' he thinks, still worried, as he slides the tray aside and knocks on the door. "Tony? You there?"

The reply is immediate. "Yeah, what do you want?" Tony sounds… defeated. Like he cried so much he exhausted himself.

A cold hand squeezes Loki's heart as he places his hand on the door. "I was… I was just wondering if you still want to go to the movies." His voice is a pathetic, raspy thing, so he clears his suddenly burning throat before continuing. "I said we could go watch King Kong today, remember?" Much better.

Footsteps. Then, a lot closer than before but still as subdued, "I'm not going."

Loki wants to push — wants to explain what Stockholm Syndrome is and insist that Tony get out of the house — but refrains. Instead, he plops down right where the tray used to sit and rests his head against the door. Tony hadn't told him to fuck off this time, he reasons, so maybe he's willing to converse. "Tony, do you want to tell me what I said or did that made you so upset?"

There is a thump on the door behind Loki; it's not a violent one, which means no thrown things. "Not really," Tony replies. His voice is close; he's sitting with his back to the door as well, possibly mirroring Loki's position.

Loki hugs his long legs to his chest and thanks his lucky stars. "Do you want to talk about something else?" he offers.

Tony takes his time to answer. When he does, his voice is almost muffled by the thick wooden door. "Okay. But you don't get to come in."

"Of course not," Loki replies. "I want to apologize for kissing you last night."

"Not accepted!" the boy yells, perfectly audible this time. Then, more subdued, "It was my first kiss, you know?"

Loki's heart soars and he stomps it back to Earth. "Then I'm even _more_ sorry," he sighs, wiping the thought of celebrating from his mind. Tony's first kiss; what a treasure he stole. "Your first kiss should have been with your first love."

A mirthless snort. "I thought it was."

'_What?!_' Loki wants to interject, but Tony continues.

"Instead, it turned out to be with a creep who only likes me because I fit his sexual predilection and I'm available." Tony laughs bitterly.

'_Whoa,_' Loki thinks, eyes wide. '_Where to start?_' He plays with the threads of the carpet, snagging a torn nail on a loop. "I _don't _only like you because of that," he says at last. "I've been staying away from kids all my life, you know?" He tugs his finger free. "Well, until I kidnapped you."

"_Kidnapped_ me?" Tony parrots incredulously. "No way! I demanded that you take me in, remember?"

Oh, yes. Loki remembers like it was yesterday. So the boy hasn't worked it out yet? He doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. "I remember taking advantage of your bad situation and tricking you. Putting the idea in your head so you would think it was yours." He sighs loudly so Tony can hear it. "I'm sorry for that, too."

There's a knock on the door, then another, and another. Is Tony hitting the door with his head? Unexpectedly, Tony chuckles. "Yeah, I'd guessed. But I wasn't sure."

Loki doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing, merely holding his legs closer.

And then the boy asks hesitantly, "…Then why _do_ you like me?"

_That_ list will take forever to enumerate, but Loki must try if he is to return a measure of self-worth to Tony. "Because you snort when you laugh," he starts, and curses himself for starting there. "Because you fixed my car's heating and didn't say anything." He closes his eyes. "Because you keep drinking your coffee black even though the taste makes you wrinkle your nose, and you have dimples when you smile." His rant is picking up steam. "Because you rub your toes together when you get to the good part of a book. Because you give the best hugs I've ever had. Because you always raise your hand to ask questions and you _never_ ask something stupid. Because I molested you and instead of calling the cops on me you called me _Pervert_ and made me cook for you. Because—"

The door opens behind Loki.

He was resting his weight on it. The sudden lack of opposing force makes him accelerate backwards, and he barely manages to put his arms behind himself to stop his fall with his elbows. He looks up and finds Tony's face upside-down, red-cheeked and peering down at him. "Oh, hello," he says dumbly, his glasses askew.

Tony's blush intensifies. "You, Sir, are an idiot," he declares, stepping back and holding the door open.

Loki rolls over and pulls himself to his feet. "Yeah, tell me about it," he agrees, dusting himself to avoid meeting the child's gaze.

Tony laughs and steps aside, inviting Loki wordlessly inside.

Loki shakes his head. "I don't dare." He licks his lips. Why is this so much harder face to face? "I don't trust myself around you."

"But _I_ do," the boy says, still holding the door open. When Loki doesn't come in, he rolls his eyes and grabs the front of Loki's shirt, tugging on it.

Against his better judgment, Loki obliges—and almost trips over Tony's sneakers on his way in. He catches himself against Tony's shoulder and snatches his hand back the second he regains his balance. "I hate your shoes," he informs Tony, trying to keep the mood light.

Tony looks back at him and grins as he continues to tug him in. "Your own fault for not getting me new ones," he plays along. When they reach the bed, he pushes Loki towards it. "Sit there, and don't move." Trusting Loki to do as he says, he turns away to fetch the chair.

Loki obeys, plopping down on the coverlet. He kicks off his slippers, scoots backward until he can cross his legs, and examines the room. It's a complete mess. Clothes are strewn around, the bed he is sitting on is unmade, and the floor is littered with books. Tony's backpack lies open on the floor like a gutted fish with its entrails spilling everywhere, only the entrails are notebooks and pencils and balled up pieces of paper. He can't remember the last time he was this messy. It makes him feel young.

Tony invades his field of vision, taking his seat in the chair he dragged over. "So," he says, crossing his arms, "you _do_ like me—_like_ like me."

Loki's heart goes crazy in his chest, like it wants to pry apart its cage of bone and make a bid for freedom. His face and neck grow hot, and he blinks slowly, speechless. "Um," he manages.

A lazy smirk spreads over Tony's face. "I _knew _it." He looks so satisfied with himself… like a cat who got the only cream-filled canary in the world. And then the expression fades and he scowls at Loki. "For the longest time, I thought you hated me, you know?"

Loki opens his mouth to deny it, but the boy holds up his hand. He isn't finished it. Loki nods at him, inviting him to go on.

"I couldn't understand it," the child continues, scratching his head before gesturing at Loki with his whole hand. "You never looked at me if you could avoid it. And you never picked me unless I was the only one who knew the answer." The scowl lightens, turning into a confused furrowed brow. "But you never snarked at me, either, while everyone else was fair game. And you are so _cool_," he blushes, "with your long hair and—and your _cheekbones,_ and the way you push up glasses when you are about to pwn someone."

'_Really?_' Loki thinks, 'I'm _the cool teacher?_' But he doesn't dare interrupt Tony.

"You let us eat candy in class but make us stand outside if we chew too loudly. And your exam questions are _so_ geeky!" the boys is saying, though it's not clear if he's complaining or not. "I can't believe the schools lets you ask Star Trek questions."

Loki clears his throat. "I do what I want in the classroom, so long as I teach you people everything," he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Wow. Tony has sure been paying attention to him… "Is there a point to this?"

That brings Tony short. "I—Yes. There is a point." He licks his lips and looks down at where his hands are picking at the hem of his shirt. "I like you, too."

Eyebrows shooting up, Loki stares at the boy. What? No, really, _what_?! Is Tony saying what Loki thinks he's saying? "You like me?" he repeats in a whisper, barely daring to hope. If Tony has liked him from _before_… But no. He needs to make sure. "Tony, look at me," he murmurs, remembering how Tony said, '_I thought it was love,'_ only moments before.

The boy shakes his head furiously. His face is completely red. If he keeps torturing the shirt, he'll tear the hem.

"Tony, Sweetheart," Loki says soothingly, gently taking Tony's hands in each of his. They are cold and clammy, probably from the nerves. He brushes his thumb over the boy's knuckles. "Tony. I need you to do something for me, okay? Because I'm scared I may have done something to you without either of us noticing."

The tension in the boy's shoulders fades, and Tony chances meeting Loki's eyes. "What?"

Loki takes a deep breath, gathers his courage, and explains his fears to Tony. He tells the boy about Stockholm Syndrome (which Tony already knew about), about his innate skill of tricking people into having the ideas Loki wants them to have (Tony says he's wasted as a teacher, he should have become a politician), and about how he fears that he won't be able to stop when the boy says to (Tony shakes his head at that). He never lets go of Tony's hands the whole time he speaks, or stop holding Tony's eyes to convey his seriousness.

Then, when he's done, he licks his lips and says, "I need you to take a good look at everything that has happened the past three weeks. And then consider all of it as objectively as you can, before deciding if you want to keep…" his mouth flaps; he doesn't have the word. Flirting?

"Keep doing what we've been doing," Tony finishes for him, and Loki sees in him the hint of the man he'll grow into.

Loki nods, letting go of the child's hands. He feels light, serene, like letting it all out in the air has calmed the storm inside him; maybe he'll be able to sleep tonight. "And whatever you decide, I'll respect your choice. You are mature enough, I think." Filled with warmth and affection, he reaches out to ruffle Tony's hair automatically, and stops himself. No. No manipulating the kid. He swallows. "Do you need to be alone to think?"

Tony gives him a precious little smile and shakes his head. "No, I already made up my mind two nights ago." Seeing Loki's confused look, he blushes and explains. "I wasn't asleep, you know? When you tucked me in the first time?"

Loki's mouth goes dry. "Yes, I worked it out last night," he says, his heart pounding.

Picking up Loki's right hand, Tony puts it on his hot cheek. "I was testing you, Pervert," he confesses, closing his eyes and tilting his face into Loki's palm. "I pretended to be asleep. Practically unconscious." He opens his eyes to half-mast, staring at nothing. "If you were as bad as you think, you would have groped me, or stripped me naked and taken a look. And I kinda wanted you to. But all you did was tuck me in and kiss me goodnight." He give a one-shouldered shrug. "Q.E.D."

At first, Loki's brain gets stuck on the '_I kinda wanted you to,_' and he feels warmth spread all over his body. Then he process the rest of what Tony said. Yes, he remembers thinking something along those lines, too. About how maybe he was cured… Only he kissed Tony the next night. He tells the boy, "Except I took advantage last night."

Tony turns his head and bites Loki's thumb. Not a sexy bite, either; a painful one.

"Ow!" Loki retrieves his hand and cradles it in the other one. "What was that for?"

The boy wipes his mouth. "For being a selfish idiot, Pervert." He blushes hotly; it's a very fetching look on him. "_I_ asked you to kiss me, remember?" He bites his lip. "And when I wanted to stop, you did. I could feel your heartbeat, you know?" Brave child that he is, he meets Loki's gaze despite his shame. "I could tell you wanted to kiss me some more. But you stopped just because I said to."

Loki melts under that pleading look. "Of course I stopped," he whispers, cupping Tony's tiny face with both hands. "How could I not? I don't want to hurt you or scare you or make you feel unsafe ever again." He strokes Tony's cheekbones gently and lets his arms drop.

Tony nods. "See? I can trust you to stop." Slowly, he puts one hand on Loki's knee.

It feels like a brand. Loki stares at it and then at Tony.

The boy averts his eyes but doesn't pull away. Instead, he swallows hard and puts a knee on the edge of the bed. He shifts his weight until it's almost completely on it and puts his other hand on Loki's shoulder. His other leg remains on the floor, as if he's expecting Loki to push him away.

Loki's breathing heavily. "Tony?" he whispers.

Tony's hand moves from the knee to the middle of Loki's thigh. His face is so red that Loki can feel the heat radiating off it. "Close your eyes, Pervert," he instructs, watching Loki's face expectantly.

With the child so close that he's almost in his lap, Loki can't speak to ask what Tony thinks he's doing. He closes his eyes and tells himself, '_Tony is calling the shots here, surely that is enough?_' He doesn't trust himself with Tony, but Tony trusts him. What's more, he _likes_ him. The boy is—

Something presses against his lips briefly, like a butterfly alighting on his mouth; there and gone again in a blink.

—kissing him? Loki inhales sharply through his nose. Hesitantly, he puts his hands over Tony's ribs. He can feel the child's heart racing against his hand, his ribs moving as he exhales shakily, the muscles of his back shifting under his skin as the boy turns his head to try another angle. Then it's all moist air, warm chapped skin, yielding lips, and a soft _chu_ sound against his mouth.

This time it lasted a bit longer, but it's evidently not enough for Tony. He comes closer, going as far as to sit sideways in Loki's lap, heavy and warm and all awkward limbs. The lips come again, even softer, over the corner of Loki's mouth. Then again, to his lower lip, and another to the seam of his lips. Only after that one does Tony get his fill and pull back, breathing just as hard as Loki. "You can open your eyes now," he pants, sitting on Loki's ankles.

Loki does, only to find Tony's feverish bright eyes looking back at him, pupils dilated so much there is only a thin ring of color around them. He doesn't quite know what to say to the child who just climbed into his lap and kissed him so sweetly — all of his own volition, without Loki even hinting at it — so he licks his lips, tasting Tony's breath on them, and murmurs, "Thank you. That was lovely."

Chest puffed up, shoulder squared, Tony grins. "It was, wasn't it?" he preens, still pressed sideways into Loki's chest.

Loki flicks him on the forehead. "Stop fishing for compliments, Mr. Stark." Then something occurs to him and he checks his watch. "Would you look at that? If we hurry, we can still be in time for the seven pm showing of a certain movie."

Tony's grin gets even wider and he scrambles off Loki's lap to hunt for his shoes and tug them on. As he walks out into the hallway, still flying on his happy cloud, he turns his head and smirks at Loki. "If you buy me popcorn and soda," he drawls, "you can hold my hand during the movie, Pervert."

Loki gets up from the bed and grins at him. "Let me get my shoes."

* * *

**AN: Early again! **You are spoiling me, guys :D. At this rate, we'll catch up with my writing very soon!


	10. Permisison

**Chapter Nine: In which Loki loves the new normal, but he's sure it can't last.**

* * *

Tony enjoys the movie, if the way he can't shut up about it afterwards is any indication. Loki indulges his wild gesticulation and his excited "And did you see when…!" exclamations with a smile, deriving more entertainment from Tony's reaction than he did from the movie itself. Well, that and the memory of Tony's little sweaty hand in his own — the boy was true to his word and sought Loki's hand the second the lights went out.

Afterwards, Tony demands ice-cream, apparently unaffected by the wintry temperatures, and naturally Loki buys him some. They go to an ice-cream parlor, something Loki hasn't done since his last ex dumped him, and order the biggest dessert to share. Tony is so happy that his legs are swinging back and forth. He actually kicks Loki once, and apologizes with a sheepish smile. Loki forgives him instantly, but takes Tony's cheery as wergild just on principle.

On the ride back home, Tony is pretty much exhausted. He takes advantage of having the backseat all to himself and lays down on it. The streets are nearly deserted (evidently there is a lull in the night life around eleven) and they make great time. In the interest of keeping Tony awake and not having to wake him later and deal with a cranky teenager, Loki engages him in conversation about the movie.

At some point, a few blocks away, when they have exhausted the other subjects, Tony tells him between yawns, "Kong is my favorite out of the whole movie."

Loki grins. Personally, he liked the girl, Ann Darrow, better; brave despite her size, and with a heart of gold, able to tame the monster and win him over. But of course the child liked the cool, super-strong gorilla. "Really?" he asks, taking the turn to his street. "He's very strong, huh?"

Tony sits up and pokes his head through the front seats. "But he's also really nice. And instead of eating Miss Darrow, they became friends." He pokes Loki on the shoulder. "Reminded me of you, actually, Mr. Big Dangerous Pederast." He yawns again.

Warmth suffuses Loki's body. Is that how the boy sees him, a gentle giant who'll protect him from harm and take care of him despite being a monster? He takes a hand off the wheel to pat Tony's head. "If I was twenty-five feet tall and had fangs like Kong, I'd battle a T-Rex for you, too."

Tony chuckles. "Just one? Kong fought _three_." He sighs, resting his head on the Loki's backrest. "He is so _cool_."

'_Losing a coolness contest to a mutant gorilla isn't half bad,_' Loki thinks. He can live with that.

* * *

The first thing Loki does when they get home is ask Tony if he's hungry, since they did just dine on just popcorn, watered-down soda, and ice-cream.

The boy shakes his head and says, "Nah. But I'm thirsty." He bites his lip and flushes. "Could you bring me a glass of water to my room?"

It's obviously a ploy to 'trick' Loki into tucking him in again — as though Loki needed any tricking — so he agrees immediately. The feeling that he's doing something he shouldn't is still there, haunting the back of his head like a vengeful spirit, but for the first time in his life he's actually excited about feeding his perversion. As he fills a plastic bottle with tap water, he wonders what Tony has in mind for tonight. More kisses, maybe? He licks his lips hungrily, picturing what it would be like to kiss the boy with their mouths open.

Shaking his head, Loki comes back to Earth. He makes at pit stop at the bathroom to brush his teeth, just in case, and then makes his way to Tony's bedroom. The door is ajar and the light coming from within is mellow; obviously, Tony left the nightstand lamp on for Loki. He goes in, announcing himself with, "I got your water."

Tony is already in bed with the covers up to his nose. "Oh, good," he says from where he's lying on his back. He doesn't sit up when Loki approaches, though; the thing about being thirsty was definitely a ploy, then. "Leave it on the nightstand."

"Of course," Loki murmurs, grinning inexplicably, and does so. "Can I sit?" He gestures to the spot he usually takes by Tony's side.

The boy shoots him an unreadable glance before nodding solemnly.

Loki sits, smiling down at him. He looks particularly beautiful, eager but nervous and hidden under his blanket as if Loki can't see him. He combs a stray curl of hair behind Tony's ear, his fingers barely grazing the cartilage.

"Gonna kiss me, Pervert?" the boy asks. His cheekbones are bright pink and his feet wiggle nervously.

Tilting his head from side to side, Loki pretends to consider it. "If you want me to," he says, peering over his shoulder at the squirming lump approximately three quarters down the bed. Quick as a snake, he catches Tony's big toes in one hand. "Methinks I caught a tiger," he muses, shaking his prize pointedly.

Giggling, Tony pushes the hem of the covers down to uncover his mouth. He's grinning toothily. "Methinks you won a kiss." He sounds completely wrecked, his voice raspy and lower by an octave.

It goes straight to Loki's crotch. It wasn't like this last night, was it? "Really now?" he drawls, releasing the captive toes and making his fingers walk lightly up Tony's leg and chest, until his hand firmly planted on one side of Tony's head. He adds its twin to the other side and lowers his upper body slowly. The boy is at his mercy right now — the notion sends an electric tingle up his spine — so he must go slow, in case Tony backs out.

It doesn't look like he will, though. With the light turned on, Loki can _see_ as Tony's eyelids drop to half-mast in anticipation, a dazed look coming onto his face; he can see as Tony's lips part slightly when he feels Loki's breath on them.

'_You're beautiful_,' Loki praises Tony in his mind, dipping even lower until his lips brush against Tony's. '_Beautiful, clever, curious, brave._' He punctuates those thoughts with tiny swipes from side to side of his face, grazing the boy's mouth teasingly each time. '_Show me you_ want_ this,_' he wills, closing his eyes.

Finally, the boy's hand comes out from beneath the covers to cup Loki's face and pull him that last bit closer. His lips are plump and warm, his breath fresh, his hand trembling on Loki's cheek. The kiss is the longest yet, and the sweetest, for Tony's lips are slightly parted and moist enough that they stick to Loki's.

Loki drops onto an elbow, cradling Tony's head as gently as he can with his other hand, stroking his hair. Breathless, he changes angle so that their mouths slot together, and Tony welcomes the change so sweetly that Loki moans softly into the boy's mouth.

A puff of air fans over his cheek; then, like a flower blooming, Tony's hand uncurls and sinks into Loki's hair, tugging him even closer. He makes a soft sound, a cross between a sigh and a moan, and then thrusts his tongue into Loki's mouth, artlessly fucking it and trailing spit everywhere.

Disconcerted, Loki pulls back immediately to blink at the boy. "_What_ was that?" he asks, the corner of his lips twitching. His eyes are narrowing in mirth and he feels chuckles bubbling up in his throat.

Tony blinks up at him, his fetchingly pink face turning red in splotches. "Um," he says, and his lips are still glistening from their kiss. "F—frenching?" he asks uncertainly, his brow charmingly knitted.

Loki snorts. It breaks the dam he had on his laughter, and he drops his face into Tony's shoulder to muffle his chuckles.

"What?" Tony demands, pulling on Loki's hair. "What did I say?"

The desperation in his voice makes Loki sober up quickly. He lifts his head to look at his precious, precious boy and pecks him on the nose. "You learn that from internet porn?" he guesses.

Tony nods, subdued. "Did I do it wrong?"

Loki smiles reassuringly. "You copied them perfectly." He winks. "It's _they_ who do it wrong in the first place, because someone who's watching can't tell if it feels good, only if it _looks_ it." He strokes Tony's cheek and combs his hair back.

"Oh," Tony says, dejected. His lower lip is on the verge of jutting out; he's annoyed. He purses his lips, moving them from side to side as he thinks. Interesting, how he doesn't ask Loki to move; he must be feeling comfortable. After a few seconds of pondering, he looks up at Loki. "Show me how it's done?"

Loki grins. "With pleasure. Look, I'll show you a trick I learned after much trial and error." He strokes Tony's cheek, waiting for his answer.

The boy licks his lips, which are already red and gleaming. "Could you…" he trails off, looking away briefly. He takes a deep breath and locks gazes with Loki. "Could you move back a bit? It's too warm and you're heavy."

"Oh, sorry!" Loki raises himself over Tony's body. He didn't realize he was practically lying on him. "Better?"

Tony nods and pulls the covers down to his clavicles, uncovering his flushed neck and a hint of bare shoulders.

Wait a moment. _Bare shoulders?_

Loki bites back a smile. "Tony, what are you wearing right now?" he asks breathlessly, letting his eyes follow the line of the boy's throat pointedly. He has an idea of how warm Tony feels right now; maybe they should open a window.

Tony turns beet red and looks around nervously. "Um." His voice is tiny when he finally says, "…Nothing." He shuffles under his covers.

Eyes widening, Loki forgets all about kissing with tongue and sweeps his gaze down the line of the covered body, catching on a lump about halfway through that can only be Tony's little cock, standing at attention. It's different, knowing Tony is naked between the sheets; dirtier somehow. It makes his heart beat faster. He remembers Tony's whispered words from earlier — '_You could have groped me, or stripped me naked and taken a look. And I kinda wanted you to._' — and his hands itch to do just that, to rip the covers away and fulfill Tony's fantasy.

"Loki?" Tony whispers, gripping the covers and pulling them up to his chin again. "You're scaring me."

_That_ sure breaks Loki out of his enchantment. He sits up straight, facing the nightstand. "I'm sorry." He shakes his head, ruffles Tony's hair gently, and pulls his hand respectfully back into his lap. "Thanks for letting me know."

Tony is still breathing hard, his cheeks are still flushed, but his fingers are still holding onto the blankets like his life depends on it. "It was better in my head," he says, trying for a smile. It comes out wobbly but genuine.

Loki returns his smile reassuringly. "Don't worry, happens to me _all_ the time." He sighs softly, ignoring the bulge burning in his pants like a hot coal. "Still want me to show you how to kiss with tongue?" he asks, because why not?

Tony bites his lip, considering the proposal, but ultimately shakes his head. "Nah. I'm tired. I think I'm gonna sleep now." His eyes still watch Loki attentively. "Could you…" he trails off, his cheeks growing pink.

"Could I…?" Loki prompts, smiling. He's a bit disappointed that Tony doesn't want to try again, but it's far outweighed by how deeply grateful he is that Tony already let him get away with this much.

Playing with the hair at the side of his head in a charming show of shyness, Tony finishes, "Could you stay till I fall asleep?" He licks his lips, burrowing deeper into his bed. The next thing he says comes out almost inaudible. "And maybe scratch my back?"

'_Aw, he's adorable_,' Loki thinks, smiling and nodding. His lungs are full to bursting but he's too giddy to speak. He manages a little, "Sure," and taps the boy's lovely button nose. Spotting Tony's briefs draped over the back of the wooden chair, he tilts his head in their direction. "Wanna get dressed first?"

Tony shakes his head immediately. "No. This feels good." He wiggles under the sheets, turning onto his stomach so that he's facing away from Loki. "Turn the light off?"

Loki does, and then gets off the bed and kneels next to it so that his arm rests comfortably on the covers, hand on Tony's back. As he rubs it gently, he tries to recall the first time he went to bed naked. He can't, but he patches the problem with a little imagination, picturing Tony's little erection rubbing enticingly against his thighs and the soft cotton sheets. Mmm.

"Loki?" Tony says, his voice sounding muffled but sweet in the dark. "You can put your hand un-under the covers. If you want?"

"Gladly," Loki replies in a soothing murmur, leaning on the side of the bed. He snakes his hand under the blankets and, daringly, under the sheets, and gropes his way to Tony's warm skin. His fingers skim to the top of the child's spine and then slowly downward, following the bumps of vertebrae. He stops well before getting anywhere near Tony's ass, reversing direction.

The child sighs loudly and melts into the mattress, losing every last ounce of tension.

'_Were you worried I would go further_?' Loki thinks at him, pressing his smile to the edge of the bed. It's a bit funny, really, just how much their positions are reversed — Tony had sounded _so_ sure Loki would never overstep, while Loki had doubted he could respect Tony's limits, yet at the moment of truth Loki stopped without thinking it twice despite still being hard as fiberglass in his pants, while Tony had been tense and anxious.

Loki takes great comfort at the 'without thinking it twice' bit. It seems Tony had been right that afternoon, when he said that Loki isn't as bad as he thinks he is.

A light snore interrupts Loki's self-congratulation. Tony conked out so soon? He must have been really beat.

Raising his head attentively, Loki ceases the sweeping motions of his fingers and takes his hand out from under the covers before he can be tempted to graze those tempting buttocks. The boy stirs and mumbles something, but he doesn't wake, so Loki gets up. His knees ache a lot — he's too old to be kneeling, apparently — so it's a bit difficult, but his erection has subsided, so he has that going for him. He makes sure to tuck the covers against the small, naked body underneath, before going out of the room.

Unsurprisingly, even with the light coming in from the hallway, he still manages to trip over Tony's shoes.

* * *

Since it's a Saturday and Loki is a firm believer in sleeping in on weekends, he doesn't set up an alarm for that morning. He wakes up surrounded by what feels like a toasty warm cloud at around a quarter to nine. He raises his head to check the time and then promptly rolls over away from the window to carry on sleeping.

In his dazed half-asleep state, he completely forgets he has a child to feed living in his house. But Tony makes sure to remind him.

The second time Loki wakes up that day, around half past ten, happens like this:

Loki is dreaming of having Tony is his bed again. In his dream, they are simply lying down on their sides, both dressed in their sleeping attires. His dream self is playing big spoon to Tony and molesting him in his sleep, gently fondling his little cock and perky nipples with each hand and mouthing at his neck; all this while dream-Tony, who happens to taste like vanilla ice-cream, is having a wet dream. He's also making the sweetest sounds imaginable. Then the boy comes — painting Loki's hand golden thanks to dream-logic — and wakes up with a smile, only to turn around in Loki's arms and kiss him lovingly.

At some point, his brain engages the fact that there really _is_ someone kissing back in the real world, and he opens his eyes to find Tony. Belatedly, he recognizes the smell of him. Tony's face is so close that Loki can't actually focus his eye lens, but he thinks he would be able to count the boy's eyelashes if he could. He wonders what the kid is doing in his room but ultimately decides not to argue; he is warm and surrounded by Tony's scent and _happy_. Letting out a contented sigh, he cups the child's face and closes his eyes, returning the kiss.

When their lips part, Tony pulls away and grins at him. "Morning, Sleepyhead," he greets cheekily, sitting up — _astride Loki?—_ and crossing his arms. He arches an eyebrow. "Look at you, Mr. Olsen. I never knew you could be so lazy."

Loki knits his brow at him, his brain still not fully engaged. Licking his lips (they are still tingling sweetly), he raises his head and confirms that yes, Tony is, indeed, using him as a bench. And that means he was just on all fours, hovering over Loki as they kissed, which is _interesting. _He hopes fiercely that Tony can't feel Loki's morning wood through the blankets. Groaning, he lets his head fall back into the pillow and throws an arm over his face. "Wha' did'ya—" he yawns, "—wake me up for?" He peeks at the boy from under the crook of his elbow with one eye.

"Revenge for yesterday!" The boy laughs and bounces off Loki, rolling off to stand at the side of the bed. "Well, and also," he pats his belly, "'cause I'm hungry." His stomach growls as if on cue, and he frowns at it.

Loki rolls onto his side and covers his head with the pillow. "Eat cereal," he mumbles into his cocoon. "Fiber is good for you." After a few seconds of silence, he thinks Tony might have relented.

Then he feels the mattress shifting under the child's weight behind him.

Tony doesn't touch him. For the first five seconds, he doesn't even talk.

But Loki can feel the kid's eyes burning a hole into his back, _judging him._

And then, the boy finally speaks. "I'm gonna tickle you," he informs Loki matter-of-factly. Like it's not a threat, but a given. A law of physics.

Rolling his eyes, Loki jerks the pillow off his head and glares at him. "Fine, I'll cook you breakfast."

The boy lets out a happy little "Yay!" and throws himself on Loki, arms curling around his chest. It's obviously Tony's way of showing his appreciation for what a wonderful and understanding host he has.

Loki grabs him around the waist and rolls them over so that he is on top and pinning the kid down. "You thought to wake the dragon and come out unscathed?" he asks in his best imitation of a cartoon villain. He raises his hands and wiggles his fingers meaningfully with a sinister grin on his face. "No, Hobbit, you die today."

Tony's eyes widen dramatically, but he's laughing too hard for it to be real. "No, Loki, nononono!"

Loki applies his wiggling fingers to Tony's sides and ribs.

The boy lets out a series of high-pitched squeals as he tries to catch Loki's hands ineffectively. "Not the stomach, ahahaha, not the stomach!"

Loki tickles him until he cries Uncle. Only then does he let the boy up. "Now go and shower while I cook. You stink."

Tony sticks out his tongue at Loki and runs away, laughing.

* * *

Tony shows up for brunch showered and combed. He mock-glares at Loki and sticks his tongue out at him again before sitting down at the table. His eyes widen a bit at the spread, and he digs in with gusto.

After they eat, Loki asks Tony if he wants to take the make-up test today, and the boy agrees with a shrug. So they go to Loki's study, and Tony works while Loki turns on the computer and opens Skype just in case Thor arrived early and got a hold of some internet.

He hasn't.

Sighing, Loki takes a peek at Tony's test, but the boy sees him and bodily covers the sheet of paper, hiding it from Loki. He exiles Loki from his own study on grounds that Loki is "breathing down my neck and that's distracting me, Pervert." Well, at least he's not crying over the test, this time.

Loki decides to spend his exile in the kitchen, but the second he steps foot in it, he remembers that Christmas is _tomorrow_ and that he only bought _gifts_. No special ingredients to prepare a Christmas dinner. No turkey. No desserts. Not even flour to bake a pie! And he doubts he'll find anything in the stores if he puts it off until tomorrow, so he interrupts Tony's test to tell him he's leaving the house to get some groceries and does he have any preferences in Christmas foods?

Tony waves him off and tells him that he doesn't care as long as it not turkey or fried eel, because they're just gross. When Loki expresses his incredulity that _anyone_ would eat eel _ever_, but especially for Christmas, Tony ducks his head and mutters something about crazy Italian mothers before shooing him.

Laughing, Loki gives Tony his cell number, just in case, and leaves him home alone. Since Tony doesn't care either way, he's just going to cook the same Scandinavian recipes Frigga always fed Thor and him.

The lines at the stores (he needs to visit two because the first one doesn't have smoked salmon or almonds for the rice pudding) are nightmarishly long, and the traffic coupled with the sheer amount of snow on the streets means that Loki takes three times as long as he normally would have. By the time he arrives back home, it's two in the afternoon, and he's scared Thor might have called while he was out.

He throws the bags into the fridge as they are, canned peas and everything, and practically runs to the study. As he approaches, he hears Tony's high-pitched giggles, followed by deep, rumbling chuckles that sound like they belong to Thor, and the blood runs cold in his veins.

'_Oh, no_,' he thinks, hand on the doorknob. He wanted to break the news to Thor slowly, but if Tony is videochatting with him… How much did Tony tell him? Oh, _fuck,_ did he tell Thor about that morning? Heart in his throat, dreading what he's going to find, Loki opens the door and walks inside. "Tony?" he asks tentatively, hoping against hope the kid is just watching a movie.

"Oh, oh, he's here," Tony tells the computer, grinning. He clears his throat and wipes the mirth off his face as best he can before turning to Loki. "Your brother on line two, Professor Olsen," he says in a passable imitation of a British accent.

Thor laughs in Afghanistan and the sound pierces Loki's heart in Long Island.

"Tony," Loki says, hand on his chest. "Could you sort the groceries for me?" he asks faintly.

The boy shrugs. "Okay, sure." He waves at the webcam. "Bye, Thor!"

In the screen, a blurry image of Thor waves back choppily. "Bye, Tony!" he replies, sounding happy enough. Maybe Tony hasn't told him anything? Maybe Thor called only just now, and only had time to tell Tony who he was and exchange a couple of jokes before Loki got there?

The boy gets up from the swivel chair — but not before whirling in it once — and grins at Loki. "You have the coolest brother _ever!_" he whispers, his eyes glittering.

Loki forces himself to smile despite the mixture of dread, jealously and lust churning in his insides. "I sure do." He gestures at the door with his head and watches as Tony leaves. Then he locks the door and rushes to the computer. "Thor, I can explain!" he blurts out.

Thor looks stormy. "Really?" he says, challenging Loki to do so. "I'm guessing _this_ is what you needed to talk about?" He doesn't look disgusted or furious, just… disappointed and expectant. Despite all, he's still giving Loki the benefit of the doubt.

_That_ reassures Loki more than any fake platitudes might have. He takes a deep breath and starts with, "First of all, I didn't kidnap him…" He tells Thor how he came across the boy as he'd just ran away from home, putting emphasis on how pathetic and cold and hungry Tony was, spinning a masterful tale.

Thor purses his lips and shakes his head, knowing better than to believe him at face value. Then his eyes widen. "Is this the _same boy_ you molested last week?" he asks, thankfully keeping his voice low so random military can't hear him.

"Two weeks ago. And of_ course_ it's the same boy," Loki bites out, annoyed at the interruption and the implied accusation. "I don't go about _preying_ on every kid that crosses my path, you know."

Thor's lips twitch under his five-day scruff. Not all is lost, apparently.

Loki continues. He tells Thor how he took the child in, and then backs up to explain why he couldn't just take the kid back to his parents. (Speaking of, he makes a mental note to tell Tony to call home and tell them he is safe; even a father as bad as Howard Stark appears to be _must_ have noticed his son missing for a week.) He also tells Thor what a nightmare the boy was when they first started living together.

Here, Thor laughs and says, "He couldn't have been worse what you were when Mom and Dad adopted you." He grins widely in a way that promises only humiliation. "Why, I remember that you still needed nappies, and you figured out a way to take them off. You'd throw the soiled ones at walls—"

"Shut up!" Loki interrupts, beet red. Why he feels ashamed for something he did back when he was two, he has no idea, but his face is dissipating what feels like at least 15 watts right now.

Thor mimes zipping his lips shut and tossing the zipper tab away. He's obviously so entranced by Loki's tale that he's forgotten, or put aside, his earlier outrage.

More subdued, Loki recounts his conversation with the boy, where he offered him a viable option far from Loki, and how the boy chose to remain there. As he sees Thor nodding along, he tells him a bit more about their daily lives, unable to stop gushing about Tony and his antics. He finishes with, "Today, he threatened to tickle me if I didn't get up and make him breakfast."

Thor smiles on cue, but his brow is furrowed. He definitely looks troubled. After about two minutes, in which Loki lets him have his space to think (Thor is a bit slow sometimes, but he's also surprisingly insightful when given the time to process everything), he finally stirs and faces the webcam dead on. "Loki. Are you having sex with this kid?"

_'Busted,' _Loki thinks. He winces a bit. "Not—not _technically_." He rubs his arm, looking down. Hum. He really needs to clean his keyboard. "I mean, we've kissed, and…"

"There's an 'and'?!" Thor demands loudly.

Defeated, Loki closes his eyes and nods. "Yeah. He's asked to see me naked. Um, and touch." He flushes in shame.

On the screen, Thor is red as well and breathing like a bull. "How _convenient_," he spits, his eyes flashing like lightning, "that the _one_ kid you take pity on turns out to reciprocate your interest_._"

Loki feels like he's been slapped. "It's not like that!" he shouts, flustered. "We—Tony—I'm not _pushing_ him into anything, for fuck's sake!" He looks at the door nervously, wondering if Tony is outside with his ear pressed to the wood. What would he think…? "Tony knows _full well_ that he has options. And I put him up in your old room, so he has a lock _and_ a phone, okay?" His vision blurs and he blinks to clear it. Fat tears roll down his cheeks. "Talk to him if you want. He'll tell you I haven't _once_ touched him without permission again."

Thor's face crumples too. He looks just as defeated at Loki. "I'm sorry, Brother," he says, so softly the microphone only picks it up because it's so silent on his side. "I can't fully understand your…" He bites his lip, unable to say the words _mental illness_. "But I'm trying." He rubs a hand over the back of his neck and sighs. "If you say you haven't done anything against his will—"

"I have not!" Loki interjects, emphatically slapping the desk.

"—then I can't say you have my blessing, because I don't understand why a child would want to… with grown man," Thor looks honestly baffled. "But as long as you take proper care of him, I won't take the first flight home and beat you up."

Loki nods gratefully, drying his tears with his sleeves. "I won't hurt him." He sniffles but looks right into Thor's pixelated eyes anyway. "I won't _ever_ hurt him. And if I do, you have my full permission to land me in the hospital."

Thor nods, sealing their pact. His face softens. "I hope I won't have to. You know I hate hitting people weaker and smaller than me."

That startles a laugh out of Loki. "Well, well," he drawls, his vice still a bit shaky, "it seems the army _has_ made you grow up. Who would have thought?"

Thor rolls his eyes and shakes his head, looking only vaguely uneasy. "Tomorrow night. I'll be on."

Loki appreciates his brother taking it upon himself to check up on his and Tony's situation. Now Tony has another person who wants to keep him safe. "Meet you then," he agrees. "Bye, Thor. Try not to get shot before then, you are insufferable when you're high on painkillers."

A snort. "Love you too, Baby Bro," Thor says, making a kissy face at the camera. "Merry Christmas."

Then the connection cuts off.

Loki sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, thanking his lucky stars he landed such a great brother.

There's a knock on the door, and then the knob jiggles.

"Loki?" comes Tony's voice, muffled by the thick plan of wood. "Are you done getting the shovel talk?"

'_What?! How did he know?_' Loki unlocks the door and pulls it open.

Tony falls in, having apparently been leaning on it. He stands and wrings his hands. "Thor isn't going to make you take me back, is he?" he asks nervously.

Loki stares at him askance.

"I heard you shouting," the boy explains, letting his hands drop to his sides. "I figured you told him." He looks down and kicks the floor. "Also, um, you look like you've been crying."

Relaxing, Loki approaches him with his arms spread.

Tony wastes no time in hugging him tightly, burying his face in Loki's sweater. In a tiny, almost inaudible whine, he says, "I don't want to go back. Please don't make me go back yet."

Closing his eyes, Loki presses him close and cards his fingers through the kid's hair. "I won't, for now," he says gently. "But you have to call your house and tell them you're safe. I bet they're worried."

Tony shakes his head into Loki's sternum. "No. I told Howard a friend from school invited me to stay over at their ranch." His arms tremble a little. "The only one who'll miss me is Jarvis, and he comes back from vacation on Monday."

Loki wonders if Howard thought it strange that Tony was staying over at the house of a kid so much older than him, or if the man only heard the part where Tony would be out of his hair for two weeks, before shooing the boy out of the room. "Okay, then we'll call this Jarvis guy—"

"He's our butler," Tony interrupts, looking up. "He never says I'm a bother."

"—call him and explain the situation," Loki finishes, grinning at the boy's obvious affection for this mysterious Jarvis. He's infinitely glad that the kid has yet another person he can count on; it feels less like the world is resting on his shoulders. Running both hands through Tony's hair, he says, "Now let's go and see what mess you made out of my kitchen, mm?"

The kid nods, subdued, and pulls away. "Okay. But any mess is your fault." He grabs Loki's hand, as if reassuring himself he won't be taken away, as they go down to the kitchen.

* * *

**AN: **Early again! Only two chapters left in my buffer before we start the whole -waiting-until-she-writes-more. In the interests of delaying the inevitable, the quota for updating early this time is 10 reviews (don't kill me! You'll get a chapter anyway on... let's say wednesday.)


	11. Melting

**Chapter Ten: In which we learn a bit more of Loki's past. Tony has an epiphany. And then he sneaks into Loki's bed with unexpected (for him) results.**

* * *

After a light snack to tide them over, Tony helps Loki cook dinner.

He's come a long way from hovering over the pot while noodles cook: now he actively helps prepare the food. This time his task is making the mashed potatoes while Loki prepares the chicken for the oven. He peels them with some semblance of ease, cuts them into rough cubes and puts them to boil. Later, when they are done, Loki strains them for him and he mashes them with gusto. He gets to add as much butter, salt and pepper as he wants, since he's the cook, and he manages to make something not only edible, but tasty.

Loki makes sure to praise him appropriately and thank him for cooperating, but Tony trumps that by kissing Loki sweetly on the cheek and thanking him for _letting_ Tony help in the first place.

After they eat, they watch movies till bedtime. The programming is now exclusively Christmas — or Hanukkah, in a few channels — movies, so Tony raids Loki's DVDs until he finds something he likes. He settles on the first Harry Potter.

Loki, feeling relaxed and at ease in a way he hasn't felt since before he met Tony, is in the mood for some white wine, so he pours himself a glass while he's in the kitchen making some popcorn. When he returns to the living room, he hands the bowl to Tony and sits down.

Popping a handful of kernels into his mouth, Tony shuffles closer until he can settle into Loki's side. He spots the glass of wine and perks up. "Oh, hey, can I have some?" he asks, peering down at the golden liquid. "I've never tried white wine before."

'_Which is strange,_' Loki thinks, putting the glass a little further away from him than before. He decides to air his troublesome thought as calmly as he can. "That implies you've tried red wine."

Tony shrugs. "I've been drinking since I was six," he says, like it's no big deal. "My dad gave me single-malt bourbon and said to drink it to prove I was a man." He plays with a kernel of popcorn, tossing it up and trying to catch it with his mouth. It lands on his cheek, but he picks it up and eats it anyway.

Horrifying. Loki is completely speechless. Howard did _what_? He pulls the boy into a hug, not knowing how to put his sympathy into words.

"Loki, you're squeezing me," Tony complains, pushing at him.

Loki realizes he's hugging Tony too tightly and lets him go. "And the wine?" he asks with a dry mouth.

The boy shrugs. "Dad lets me come into his study when he's drinking, as long as I join him, because only men are allowed in his study." He takes another piece of popcorn but doesn't eat it. He simply turns it over in his fingers, studying the curves of the soft white shell. "It makes me really dizzy after, so I don't do it often."

"I see." Loki feels deeply, deeply sorry for this kid. "You realize that what your father said is bullshit, right?" he blurts out tactlessly and immediately panics. "Er, I meant—"

"I know what you meant," Tony mumbles, flicking the kernel at Loki's face and nailing him on the chin. He draws his legs up, setting the bowl on Loki's lap, and curls into a ball. "I mean, I _know_ I'm a kid. I mean, I'm just thirteen. Even the law says I'm only a man when I turn eighteen." His voice comes out a little strangled, and he rests his forehead on his knees, taking deep breaths that are more like heaving sobs. "And even when he _pretends_ to like me, he feeds me alcohol so I'll get sleepy and stop bothering him." His fist comes down on the couch cushions hard enough to make a _thump_.

Loki puts the wine glass and the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and turns to the distraught boy, pulling him into an embrace. He hears the child sob into his ear and strokes his hair soothingly. "I'm so sorry," he whispers softly. "You deserve better." He kisses Tony's hair and holds him tighter.

Tony uncurls and grabs at Loki's clothes, sobbing into his chest. "I mean, it's _so_ obvious he never wanted kids." His shoulders shake. "Did he expect me to emerge fully formed, like Athena?"

Feeling his own eyes getting wet, Loki pulls on the boy's knees until he's sitting sideways in his lap. He keeps his lips pressed to the child's temple as he strokes his back. "You're just thirteen and already about to graduate high school," he murmurs. "You're already growing up as fast as you can, faster than anyone else I know." He shouldn't be adding fuel to the fire, but dammit, Tony deserves some recognition.

Tony nods into Loki's shoulder, his thin arms creeping around Loki's neck with hidden strength. "Fuck him," he whispers brokenly, hot tears soaking Loki's shirt. "Fuck him _so much_." He doesn't talk after that, he just hugs Loki and sobs.

Loki can do little else but hold him through it, stroke his back, and keep himself from marching to Howard Stark's location and kicking the man in the balls hard enough to ensure he never does to anyone else what he did to Tony. When the child's wild sobbing subsides, he hugs him tightly and presses their cheeks together with all the affection he can muster. "Clever boy, realizing this so soon. I envy you," he mutters unthinkingly. "I kept believing my father could love me if only I tried hard enough until I was seventeen."

Shuffling in his arms, Tony loosens their embrace until he can look up at Loki. "What happened?" he asks, his eyes rimmed red.

To tell him, or not to tell him, that was the question. Loki is still ashamed of what he did when he was sixteen and he doesn't want the kid to think less of him. Yet he feels that Tony needs to know, to prevent the same from happening to him. "It's a long story," he says, drying the boy's wet face with the back of his hand. "Not one for now, I think. The short version…" He trails off and bites his lip. The words feel like tar in his throat, ready to stain everything they touch when they come out. "I overdosed on heroin," he spits out.

There, he said it.

Tony pulls back, getting a better look at him. "You? _You_ were a drug addict?" he asks, as if Loki were the paragon of virtue. His solid weight doesn't move from Loki's lap, though. He isn't running away.

Loki nods. "Like I said, long story." He opens his eyes briefly to gauge Tony's reaction, and finds the boy watching him with worry and, more importantly, no revulsion. That gives him the strength to continue. "The thing is… Odin, my father, never once came to visit me. And when the doctors declared me well enough to leave, he paid them to keep it off the record."

The kid looked down. "But, but that's good, right?" He shifts so that he's sitting more comfortably, his legs bent in a less awkward position. "I mean, you would have gone to jail."

'_So I thought, too_,' Loki thinks wryly. "No. I would have gone to state-mandated rehab." He lets out a long, long sigh. "Instead," he says bitterly, "I had to deal with detox and my addiction by myself, just so the press wouldn't find out and ruin my parents' careers." He drops his head to the top of the backrest and stares at the ceiling. "I don't know if I would have made it without Thor helping me through."

Next thing he knows, Tony rises on his knees and kisses him on the mouth.

Loki lets out a surprised hum before closing his eyes and cupping the boy's jaw on either side, returning the kiss. He feels warmth instantly spreading through him, and the best thing? It's not arousal.

When they break apart, Tony sits back down on Loki's lap as if he belongs there, smiling at him. He looks a lot better now, emotionally wise.

Loki strokes his soft cheeks with his knuckles. "Still wanna try the wine? No pressure."

Tony nods eagerly. "And the movie." He gets off Loki and plops down in his old spot, grabbing the bowl of now cool popcorn before once more leaning on Loki.

Finally pressing play on the DVD — the annoying start screen had been replaying on a loop during the whole conversation, thankfully muted — Loki takes his glass and drinks a healthy mouthful, relaxing into the sofa. They watch the movie and eat popcorn. Every now and then, Loki hands Tony his glass for a little sip, as the kid likes the taste, but not more than that. When they've eaten all the popcorn and drunk all the wine, Tony lies down sideways on the couch, his head on Loki's lap, and Loki strokes his hair absently. They stay like that until the movie ends.

When Loki tucks him in that night, the boy only has the energy for one kiss-and-hug combo. Loki stays stroking his back under the blankets until he falls asleep and then presses his lips to the sleeping kid's temple before leaving the room.

He takes a detour to the garage, where Tony's gifts are hidden, and puts them under the Christmas tree before going to bed. He can't wait until Tony sees them.

* * *

Loki wakes up enveloped in warmth and softness. He stretches where he lies, feeling like going back to sleep, and when he turns his head to look at the alarm clock, he finds Tony sleeping on the other side of the bed. He smiles sleepily, and thinks, '_What a nice dream,_' as he scoots closer.

The boy is on his side, in a loose fetal position and snoring gently. His hands are curled up adorably near his chest, and the serene expression on his face makes him look even younger than he really is. The more Loki watches him, the more details he discovers: the dark eyelashes, the gentle curve of a tiny ear, a pimple on the chin, nostrils flaring with every breath, a knee shifting to press into Loki's thigh…

Loki realizes with a gasp that _this is not a dream._

He freezes where he is, hand halfway to Tony's face, unsure what to do. Unsure what Tony is doing _in his bed_ in the first place. Should he wake him? Probably. Yes, he definitely should wake him. He rolls half onto his back, watching the ceiling, one leg bent in Tony's direction. He wonders again what the boy is doing in his bed. Did he have a nightmare? Was he hungover?

No, that is impossible. He didn't drink nearly enough wine for that.

Tony stirs, cracking his eyes open. "'Oki?" he murmurs, adorably whiny first thing in the morning. "What ar'ya doin' in my bed?"

Disarmed by his cuteness, Loki reaches out across the two feet of space between them and cups Tony's pillow-marked cheek. "Not your bed, kiddo." His voice sounds just as sleepy and wrecked as Tony's, more like a gravelly purr than his normal timbre. He smiles softly, "Did you sleepwalk?"

Burrowing his face into Loki's hand, the boy blinks a couple times, thinking about it. Then his mouth makes an 'O' of realization and he blushes. "Nah. Remember now. Had a wet dream." He shrugs. "Figured your bed was clean." He scoots closer to Loki, resting his head on Loki's biceps, his forearms pressing against Loki's chest and maintaining the size of his personal space bubble.

Immediately, Loki's other arm curls over him, hugging him closer. "Hmm, clever boy," he says, and not even he is sure if he means that or if he's teasing. He straightens his legs as best he can to give Tony's more room and presses a kiss to the top of the boy's hair, tasting the boy's scent.

Tony rolls even closer, throwing his bare leg over Loki's and his tiny arm over Loki's wide chest, the other remaining between them, folded like a bird's wing. His lips press into the meaty part where Loki's chest becomes his shoulder, and his breath fans over Loki's neck. He's just wearing a borrowed shirt — oh, of course, he must have discarded the soiled underwear before coming here.

The mental picture of Tony darting bare-assed through the house, quickly so his dangly bits won't freeze off, makes Loki smile. The child is so close that he can feel his genitals pressing into his thigh. Warmth suffuses his lower belly and he thinks, '_I can't believe you_,' at his hardening cock. Yet the closeness and Tony's vulnerability feel so good that all he does is tilt his body towards the boy. The hand on Tony's upper back begins exploring, stroking his side back and forth. "This okay?"

Slowly, Tony nods. His hand, which Loki foolishly thought merely pleasantly warm and harmless, gravitates towards Loki's nipple and strokes it in clockwise spirals over the pajama shirt. Meanwhile, the leg he'd so carelessly tossed over Loki's climbs higher until it brushes Loki's cock—and then twitches away. "Uh, sorry, Pervert," Tony murmurs, lifting his head to look Loki in the eye and show how earnest he is.

"Uh-huh, sure," Loki murmurs back, grinning. "_I'm_ the pervert here. Remind me again who sneaked into whose bed." He playfully lowers his hand to Tony's leg in mock-revenge, stroking the underside of the bare thigh, higher and higher until he's almost cupping Tony's buttock. He stops because _Tony's bare ass is one inch away_ and he forgot how to breathe. Should he touch it? Oh, stars, will Tony let him grope it? "Tony, can I…?" He runs out of words.

The boy is looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. His hips press helplessly into Loki's big, heavy thigh; he's hard and, unless Loki's mistaking the feeling, painfully so. "Just touching? Nothing…" He blushes. "Nothing weird?"

Briefly, Loki wonders if the boy is asking if he's going to try to finger him open. His hand tingles with the abrupt desire to do just that. "No, Sweetheart," he says, blushing as well, "no funny business. Promise." Just how much does the boy know, want, or expect? He hasn't a clue, but he's willing to find out. He's still reeling from being in contact, however indirect, with that youthful little cock.

Tony grins at him. "Cool." The hand that had been toying with Loki's nipple disappears, only to reappear on Loki's own hand. He grabs it at the wrist and actually drags it up his leg and onto his ass. There's a challenging glint in his eyes and a smirk on his face; he's silently daring Loki to actually do this.

'_Feeling daring, are we?_' Loki thinks, curling his fingers into the boy's sweet little bottom. He can feel just how firm it is, how it flexes reflexively when his thumb moves to caress it.

"Ngh," Tony purrs softly, his eyes narrowing in pleasure, arousal, or both. He holds Loki's gaze with his pupils like two bottomless wells, expectant, and takes his hand off, letting Loki know he has his permission to worship his ass at his leisure.

Far from taking advantage and massaging the warm flesh, Loki runs his fingertips very lightly back and forth over the crease between thigh and buttock, watching Tony's face for any reason to stop. "Still cool?" he asks, tracing the roundness gently.

Tony wiggles a bit, his little cock poking and sliding against Loki's hip. "Tickles," he murmurs sweetly, blushing. "And you're poking me."

Loki chuckles nervously, his heart pounding. He strokes the boy's ass more confidently and then cups a cheek whole in his hand, feeling its weight and supple volume. '_This is Heaven_,' he thinks even though he's never been religious, pressing an affectionate kiss to Tony's forehead. "You're poking me too, so I guess we're square."

Shaking his head, the boy whispers, "Lies, you're poking me more because yours is bigger." But he's completely relaxed over that fact, arching his back and pushing his butt into Loki's hand. He appears to be enjoying himself, judging by his fast heartbeat, his labored breathing, and the way his hips are gently rocking into Loki's.

Loki sinks his fingers into his flesh, massaging it, and pulls the boy closer. Some of his fingertips dip into the boy's ass crack; the knowledge that Tony is not only tolerating this, but _liking it_, sends a shock up his spine. Suddenly possessed by giddy irrationality, he asks, "Wanna see it?" He's feeling more like a pervert than ever but, for once, he doesn't feel any guilt about it. It's liberating.

Tony goes still. Even the small rocks of his hips into Loki's thigh stop. He props himself up on his elbow and stares at Loki searchingly, his face pink and still bearing the imprint of the pillow on one side. "I wanna _touch_ it," he whispers excitedly. "Can I? I'll even let you touch mine." If he were a dog, his ears would be standing at attention and his tail wagging. "Please?"

Loki can't help it; he laughs loudly, hugging the precious, precious child to his chest. "Yes, yes," he chuckles, pulling back to tap Tony's nose. "Of course." Conscious that he has Tony's full attention, he turns onto his back as slowly and sinuously as possible, even though the boy can see much of him under the covers. He needs to go slow; that's the key.

The boy looks just as expectant as when Loki is about to teach them something new in class. He's sitting up, the blankets gathered around him. His arms, covered only to the elbow by the oversized tee, are still those of a child: thin and pale, with very little hint of muscle. His body hair is sparse and soft, nothing like the gross wiry dark stuff that grows after puberty.

Winking at him, Loki slides off his pajama pants. It takes him a moment, as he gets his feet tangled in them in his eagerness, but at last he succeeds and takes them out from under the covers. Balling them up, he tosses them at the boy's face and makes him laugh; now naked from the waist down, like Tony, he lays back down and folds his arms behind his head as a pillow. "All yours," he tells the boy, pointing at his crotch with his chin.

Apparently, the prospect of seeing and touching a real-life adult erection has turned Tony into a cartoon villain, because he actually _rubs his hands_ with a gleeful look on his face before pushing the covers down Loki's body. However excited he is, he still takes a moment to run a hand over the hollow of Loki's stomach before hesitantly approaching the long, hard cock lying against Loki's thigh. "You weren't lying about the size," he observes, his hands flitting around it like nervous butterflies, as if he hasn't decided yet where to start attacking it.

"Nope," Loki grins at him. "And I'm not fully hard yet. Just you wait." The boy has turned to look at his crotch, and Loki can see a hint of Tony's ass peeking out from under the shirt. '_Hairless,_' he thinks, wondering if Tony will grow to have a lot of hair; Loki rather likes the sight of his smooth pale skin. He notices the boy still hasn't touched him and rests a warm hand on the small of his back reassuringly. "Second thoughts?"

Tony peers down at him over his shoulder as he shakes his head. "No. It's just…" He turns back to the problem at hand. "How do I…?" He makes a grabbing gesture with his hands. "Do I, like, just grab it?"

Ah, innocence, how refreshing. Loki chuckles softly and sits up so he can see what Tony is seeing, leaning on a hand planted right behind Tony. He pulls his pajama top up to navel level so Tony can see more clearly. "Like you would your own," he says, encircling his shaft with his hand and holding his cock straight out. "See? It's not nitroglycerin. As long as you don't bend it in half, it'll be alright." He moves his hand to the cockhead, giving the boy room.

Leaning into Loki, Tony puts his warm hand around the shaft just like Loki had. Unlike in Loki's fantasies, his fingers are long enough to close comfortably around the girth, and the boy squeezes lightly. When Loki lets go and he's left holding it up all by himself, he whispers, "It's so heavy and warm," sounding fascinated. He turns in Loki's direction and adds his other hand further up where the foreskin is looser, making it move up and down over the glans.

It feels perfect. Loki hums softly, not wanting to moan and startle the boy but needing to show him how much he's liking it. He takes Tony's moving hand and guides it into slow twists at the tip of his cock. "Mmm, like that, yeah," he murmurs, resting his temple on Tony's hair and sighing contentedly.

The boy chuckles and tilts his head back, peering up at him. "Feels good, huh?" he asks his teacher, grinning widely, as he thumbs the slit.

Their faces are so close that Loki gets a noseful of morning breath, but he's perfectly willing to overlook it. Besides, he isn't so sure about the freshness of his own breath, and Tony hasn't complained yet. "Feels great," he says, holding the boy's dilated eyes. He cups his chin and leans down far enough to press a small, chaste kiss on his lips.

When he pulls back, Tony is beaming at him. "Kiss me with tongue," he orders, tilting his face up so Loki won't have to bend so far.

Loki does. He tilts onto one buttock to face Tony better and kisses him again. No tongue right away — he hopes the boy is taking mental notes — but instead a soft caress of lips. One kiss turns into another, even sweeter, and this time Loki closes his lips over Tony's bottom one, inviting him to part his mouth.

With a soft moan that goes right to Loki's cock, Tony does. He lets go of the erection with one hand and grabs Loki's shirt with it, turning at the waist as best he can. While his other hand still moves slowly back and forth on Loki's cock, he lets his lips fall open just a bit and mimics what Loki did. He kisses his bottom lip and tugs on it with a small amount of suction and a gentle _chuuuik_ sound.

Puffs of his breath fan over Loki's cheek, tickling his ears, and he finally gives Tony what he wants. Cupping the boy's chin, he lets his tongue peek out just a bit and flicks it at the underside of Tony's top lip, before pressing a kiss to the spot and then swiping his tongue along the wet part of the boy's bottom lip.

Tony makes a sound like a whimper and curls his hand higher up, as if holding on for dear life. He copies Loki's trick and almost manages it perfectly on the first try. His tongue is too hard, but Loki is inclined to forgive it because the rest of him — Tony's hands, his warmth, his harsh breathing, his small hand forgotten on Loki's cock — is so fantastic.

Loki has a surprise for him, however: when the boy swipes his tongue along Loki's lip, Loki cradles his head in his hand and steals that curious tongue by sucking it into his mouth and biting carefully on the tip.

Tony's resulting moan is one of confusion and surprise rather than pleasure. He turns his face and pushes at Loki's chest with both hands.

Immediately, Loki lets his hands drop and releases the boy entirely, so that the only place they are touching is where their thighs lie side by side. He watches as the boy swipes at his mouth with his hands, making a face, and says, "Too much?"

Tony grimaces, his tongue poking out of his mouth in evident disgust. "Too _yuck_." He wipes his mouth again. "People _enjoy_ that?"

Loki laughs and rearranges the blankets to cover Tony's modesty. "It's an acquired taste." Thinking the crisis has passed, he pats the boy's middle back soothingly. "But to answer your question… Not always." He lets his hand slide up and cards his fingers through Tony's hair affectionately. "See, the less tongue, the better it feels. At least to start with."

The boy nods sagely. "Hm. Makes sense," he says, as if he'd known all along and was only testing Loki just now. Then he looks down at his lap and bites his lower lip. "Um, can we stop now? I'm kinda…"

Wanting to give him an easy way out, Loki finishes for him, "…Itching to brush your teeth?" He grins and leans back. The mood is already ruined, anyway.

"Yeeeah… Let's go with that." Tony grins back with his beautiful kiss-red lips, looking relieved. Then his eyes widen and he turns red to the tip of his ears. His legs move under the covers, pressing together. "You know I don't really want to leave to brush my teeth, right?" he says practically into his chest.

Loki nods sagely. "Yup. I was just trying to be tactful." He ruffles the adorable boy's hair, his hand lingering a moment longer than usual. "I take it that it didn't work?"

Looking studiously away from Loki, Tony licks his lips compulsively, probably tasting Loki's spit there. "Remember how I said I'd let you touch mine?"

Barely believing his ears, Loki sits up straight. Is Tony suggesting…? His mouth goes dry. "Yeah, I remember," he says hoarsely. Blushing at his own eagerness, he clears his throat and speaks before he can chicken out. "You know you're not obliged to follow through just because you said that, right?" The voice in his head with the terrible, no good ideas screams at him to shut up and take advantage. He kicks it out of his mind and continues. "You never are, at least in sexual matters."

The boy's face is still red, but he manages a smile and some brief eye-contact. "Now I know," he says candidly. "But I want to, this time." He lets out a shaky breath — _anticipation. _He draws his knees to his chest, tugging on the bedcovers to manage it. "I—I want. Erm."

Loki's heart hammers against his ribcage. He strokes Tony's hair again, but this time his fingertips follow the curve of the tiny ear in a decidedly seductive way. "Tell me. Whatever it is you want, I'll give." Cupping the back of Tony's neck, he encourages the child to come closer with gentle pressure.

Uncurling his body, Tony does, leaning into Loki to receive a kiss on the neck. Loki fears it might have been too much, but he shivers pleasantly into the touch and looks at Loki with huge dark eyes. "You can't look. You—" He pauses, closing his eyes as Loki presses his lips to his jaw. The hand that isn't bearing his weight comes up to curl around Loki's shoulder.

Loki kisses his neck again, parting his mouth a little. He cherishes the child's little involuntary moans and shivers. "No looking," he whispers, purposely next to the traces of moisture he left on Tony's skin. "Lie down," he croons softly, leading by example and rolling onto his side.

Tony obeys cautiously, using Loki's biceps as a pillow. His heartbeat is like that of a rabbit waiting for the wolf to devour it, his breath is shaky, and he's trembling slightly. He brings the covers up to his neck, definitely not kidding about the no-looking rule, and then leaves his hands clutching them, probably not knowing where to put them. Their bare legs brush together enticingly.

This could easily overwhelm the child, who has very obviously never been touched this way before. '_Uncharted land_,' Loki thinks, resting his hand on Tony's stomach over the sleeping shirt and rubbing in soothing circles. "Are you sure?" he asks again, watching Tony's scrunched up face. "You look like a lamb for slaughter."

The child's eyes fly open, and he glares accusingly at Loki. "I said no looking!" he says shrilly, skin tomato-red. He closes his eyes again, though not as tightly as before, as if the pressure of Loki's gaze is unbearable. Inhaling sharply, he orders, "Do it."

Closing his eyes obediently, Loki lets his hand travel down. He's already tingling all over at the prospect, not only because this is _Tony's _cock he's about to touch but also because he's about to fulfill a life-long fantasy. His hand reaches the point where the shirt ends, having ridden up to Tony's lower belly, and he slips his fingers under it in a smooth motion, stroking the soft skin.

Tony gasps and writhes under the touch, like Loki's hand is a live wire. It presses the curve of his upper thigh into Loki's crotch, the naked erection hot against his skin, and he freezes. "Uh, Loki," he says in a squeaky whisper, "is—is that—?"

"It's what you do to me," Loki purrs, swiping his thumb over the child's navel. His belly is still soft with baby fat; Loki feels like hugging him around the middle and burying his face in it. '_Maybe another day,_' he tells his id wryly, nuzzling Tony's temple. "Does it bother you?"

Tony shakes his head so minutely that at first Loki confuses it with the rest of the trembling that seems to have taken over him. "N-no, I like it," he whispers in awe, turning his head so Loki's nuzzling his forehead instead. "So hard. It's like wood," he adds with a fit of nervous giggles, as if he's never felt how hard a cock can get with the proper incentive.

Loki laughs low in his throat and opens one eye to peer down at him. He sees Tony's blush and his little smile, and his apprehension leaves him. The boy is merely too excited to function; not pressured and decidedly not scared. "Of course it's hard," he whispers, moving his hand down Tony's stomach to his pubis, feeling his abdominal muscles quiver under his touch. Palming the fragile skin above the root of the jutting cock, he kisses Tony's cheek and adds, "Have you seen the cutie that sneaked into my bed?"

The child's laughter is like finely-tuned bells. "You're _such_ a pervert," Tony gasps out, before breaking into cackles again and turning his body unconsciously toward Loki's. He catches his breath with his face buried into Loki's chest.

Then Loki curls his fingers triumphantly around the small but hard and hot steel rod that is the child's cock.

Both of them moan at the contact. Tony's moan is shaky and aborted; Loki's is long and satisfied, like for a moment he was Atlas shrugging the weight of the sky off his shoulders.

Loki marvels at how well the little erection fits the hollow of his hand, at how warm it is, at how Tony makes little whimpers every time he exhales, his hips twitching. Opening his eyes so he won't miss the sight, he drags his hand down about half an inch experimentally, making the foreskin glide over the developing glans.

Tony responds _beautifully_, arching his back, his mouth dropping open in a silent scream. He remembers how to breathe in the next stroke, inhaling shakily and letting out low, nearly inaudible moans.

He looks so into it that Loki kisses him open-mouthed, swallowing his every delicious sound as his pumping becomes less tentative and more steady, gaining a nice, even rhythm. The boy's hips are rocking into his hand, which means they are rubbing his cock where it lies trapped between their bodies, and he breaks the kiss with a hot gasp, pressing his forehead to Tony's. "Do you want to come?" he asks, purposely slowing his hand to cup the child's balls and roll them between his fingers.

Tony groans in protest. "Yes," he whispers urgently, nosing at Loki's cheek to urge him on. "Yes, I want to come! Ah!" He thrusts helplessly up, desperately seeking the contact that he's been denied. "Loki—ngh—please let me come!"

Knowledge of the power the sweet boy has just given him ignites the napalm in Loki's bloodstream. Not sure and not caring if he's celebrating or giving confirmation, he mutters, "Yes, yes!" right before shifting his grip again. He pumps the three-inch-long cock like his life depends on it — it very well might, as Tony will use this experience to gauge whether he wants another — and adds a twist on the head on every tug; the same one he taught Tony not ten minutes ago.

It doesn't take long; the boy is too overstimulated and too young to last. Before two minutes are up, Tony seizes in Loki's embrace, going rigid and completely silent, his face contorted into a beautiful mask of ecstasy. Loki strokes him through it, murmuring nonsensical encouragement and praise into his ear, and only stops when the boy's body relaxes into putty.

Still breathing hard, Tony opens his glazed eyes and murmurs something that sounds like a complaint, squirming. His lips are bitten-red and his flush extends far enough down his neck that it hides under the covers now held loosely between relaxed fingers.

Taking the sounds to mean something along the lines of '_stop touching me, it's too much_,' Loki kisses him on the nose and lets the half-hard little cock drop back down to Tony's belly. His hand is wet with the boy's ejaculation; he curls it into a loose fist as he takes it out from under the bed so he won't stain the sheets. He looks at his palm and grins when he sees it's just clear liquid. How _charming_; the boy is too young to produce sperm! His cock is throbbing where it still lies between him and Tony, but he doesn't care: he holds his prize in the palm of his hand. He raises it to his mouth and licks it up, tasting the bitter saltiness of it.

"Ewwww, gross," Tony groans with a wrinkled nose, turning his face away. "God, how are you just _eating_ it?" He makes a show of pretending to retch, going as far as to stick a finger into his mouth. "Fucking pervert, you're disgusting," he mutters into Loki's arm, turning onto his side and facing away from him.

Laughing, Loki curls his body around him and hugs him affectionately. He really is small enough to be a teddy, fitting into Loki's arms like a missing jigsaw piece. "This _disgusting_ _fucking pervert_ just got you off," he reminds Tony, nuzzling the back of his head. "How did you like it?"

Tony's shoulders shake — scaring Loki for a moment — and then his chuckles become audible. "Well, you need to work on your grip, but I'll give full points on techni—"

Loki attacks him with tickles to shut him up, delighting in his easy laughter.

* * *

Moments later, when they decide to get up for the day, Tony hesitates before leaving the bed. Fingers fumbling nervously with the covers around his waist, he mumbles, "Erm. Could you turn your back?"

Rolling his eyes, Loki turns around and covers his face with his hands for good measure. As he listens to fabric rustling and the fading pitter-patter of Tony's feet on the floor, he makes a mental note to remind the boy to ask permission before coming into his room, let alone climbing practically naked into his bed.

Because having permission is important.

…Maybe he won't say anything after all.


	12. Riskrem

**AN: **Holy shit, you guys! Why didn't anyone tell me I haven't updated in foreverrrrr?

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: In which piloting awkward mornings-after is like making rice-pudding.**

* * *

Loki has an indelible smile on his face as he cooks Tony's favorite breakfast food, eggs and bacon. He even squeezes fresh orange juice for the boy, that's how much of a good mood their encounter that morning put him in. Yes, he definitely wants to reward Tony's initiative. While he cooks, he pauses now and then to stare down at the hand that had been on Tony's itty bitty prick. The child's ecstatic gasps and half-suppressed moans still play in his ear like mischievous butterflies, and he can't stop thinking about him.

It feels strange to Loki, this _giving in_. Touching Tony — holding him, kissing him, fondling him, hearing his little moans and watching his little face scrunch up in pleasure — represents tossing a lifetime of enduring temptationout the window.

His perversion has shaped his life, forcing him to curb his dreams of being a teacher to something where he won't do any damage. It has made it nearly impossible to forge a healthy relationship with someone at his own maturity level, sexual or otherwise, because he's always lived in permanent fear that somehow everyone will find out. It has tortured his psyche with fantasies and dreams of what he _could_ have if only he were less scrupulous. It could cost him his sanity, his job, his friends, his freedom; hell, it nearly_ did_ cost him Thor, his best friend in his whole miserable life.

And in one moment of deranged abandon, he ruined all that effort, all that restraint, that pain and suffering and refusal to give into temptation. And the worst thing? If Tony came through that door right now and asked him do it again, Loki would. Without pausing to think it twice. This will change things, he knows, and he's slightly apprehensive about having gone too far. He wishes he knew what Tony is thinking right now. Does he regret letting Loki touch him so intimately? Loki hopes not; he's not so sure he can fully rebuild the dam Tony's permission has broken.

Still, he will probably need to have a talk with Tony and help the boy work through his own feelings.

Sighing, he plates the food and picks up the dishes to take them to the table. He hesitates, wondering if Tony might prefer to be left alone for a while and take breakfast in his room or if, like Loki after his first time, he'd rather some company to reassure himself he wasn't just used—

The thought makes the bottom drop out of his stomach.

'_Oh, no._' With shaking hands, he sets the plates back down on the counter. The _last_ thing he wanted was to make Tony feel bad about himself and his newfound sexuality. Because, sure, for Loki, who is an adult and used to sex being part of a relationship, it was all fun and games, but what if Tony saw something more sinister? What if Tony saw a predator taking advantage of his natural curiosity? Loki thinks back, running over everything that happened since he woke up, trying to determine if at any point Tony looked apprehensive or scared or like he was biting his tongue to keep from saying something. He can't recall any, but this is a child who deals with hiding his feelings from adults on a daily basis…

Heart in his throat, Loki goes up to Tony's room. He knows better than to just walk in, so he knocks on the door and says, "Tony, breakfast is ready," trying to keep the words as casual and normal as possible.

"Still getting dressed!" Tony calls from inside. He doesn't sound sad or angry or hurt.

It's such a relief that Loki nearly collapses against the wall. As it is, he rests his hand on the doorframe and exhales long and soothingly. '_He's OK_,' he tells his stubbornly racing heart, patting the center of his chest. _'Nothing to freak out about. I did right by him._' Then he hears soft footsteps approaching the door, and he manages to compose himself before it opens.

Tony pokes his head out and spots Loki. "Have you seen my shirt?" he asks casually, as if he weren't naked from the waist up. "The green one? I can't find it."

"Um, I think I washed it yesterday." Loki is trying and failing not to stare at the perfectly round mole on Tony's otherwise creamy shoulder. "It might be in the clean pile," he says, licking his lips.

The boy follows Loki's eyes to his bare skin and flinches slightly. Blushing adorably, he scoots a few inches so that his body is hidden behind the door. "Could you…" his eyes flit about, landing on everything except Loki's own, "…get it for me?"

"Sure thing," Loki says with a smile. '_He's just body-shy_,' he realizes. It's only natural; Tony's only thirteen, and by his own admission he's never shared the communal showers or changed in locker room because he doesn't do PE. "Do you want me to iron it first, so it's nice and warm?"

Tony starts to nod, but then he stops and shakes his head. "No, it's okay. Don't want breakfast to get cold." He disappears inside.

Loki stands there awkwardly. He doesn't understand what Tony decided — should he go and get the shirt, or not, or what?

Before he can think to ask, Tony emerges from his room wearing the red hoodie Loki got for him — with nothing underneath. He's still zipping it up as he joins Loki in the hallway; his clavicles disappear under the fabric as he finishes. "What did you make?" he asks, taking the lead so that Loki is left staring at his back. There is a spring to his step.

"Bacon and eggs," Loki replies, not sure if that's a good thing or not. If the kid just happy, or is he trying to _look_ happy for Loki's sake? "Listen, Tony, about earlier—"

The boy whirls around so fast he nearly loses his balance and falls down the stairs. He catches himself on the rail at the last moment. "Ah-ah-ah, Pervert," he says, holding up one finger. His face is completely red and the wideness of his eyes convey his completely scandalized state. "We're not talking about that right now, okay?"

Loki raises his hands pacifyingly. "Okay—"

Tony relaxes, exhaling softly. He looks like he just dodged a bullet.

"—As soon as you answer one question," Loki finishes, the corner of his lips twitching.

The boy cringes a bit and drops his gaze to his shoes. His cheeks puff out as he mutters, "What is it?"

"Tony." Putting one finger under the boy's chin, Loki delicate pushes it up until their eyes meet. "Do you regret it?"

Surprised, Tony raises his eyebrows. "No, I don't, Pervert." He blushes and twists his face away, dislodging the finger. He turns back around as if to go downstairs, but doesn't right away. "It's just weird, you know?"

Loki does know, and he tells the boy so.

* * *

They have breakfast in surprisingly companionable silence. It seems the awkwardness evaporated the second they agreed not to mention what happened earlier.

Still, something is bugging Loki. As he puts his mug of coffee down, he asks, "Would you like to pretend it didn't happen?" as casually as he can.

Tony looks up from his plate, mouth full of bacon. "People do that?" he asks, chewing.

It sounds like he's actually curious, so Loki decides not to reprimand him for talking with food in his mouth. "Tony, my brother is in the army, and sometimes he brings friends over for leave," he explains with a smile. "You have no idea how many soldiers are in the closet, and they have to be really good at pretending if they don't want to be discharged." He shovels some egg onto his toast. "Well, except around Thor. I swear they flock to him." He tops the mess with strips of bacon. "Thor says it's like they can smell my queerness on him. Don't gape."

Tony closes his mouth and swallows. "I see," he says, but it's pretty clear he doesn't get it. He eats a forkful of eggs, eyebrows knitting in the middle as he thinks. Then out of the blue, he asks, "How many people have you had sex with?"

The question startles Loki into spitting a mouthful of coffee back into the mug. He wipes his chin with a napkin and stares at the boy, who is busy spearing a strip of bacon on his fork. "Um," he says, blinking. How many people…? It's not like he keeps count. "I don't know. Fifteen, maybe? No more than twenty." He shrugs self-deprecatingly. "I have trouble making relationships last."

Tony's jaw drops a little. He shoves the bacon into his mouth and looks down into his plate, wide-eyed. "How…?" he breathes after swallowing, and his eyes snap to Loki's. "How do you get people to have sex with you?"

Loki thinks of jokingly accusing the boy of implying he's ugly, but decides not to. Tony is asking for guidance, and guidance is what Loki will give him. "Well, it depends. For hookups, which is mostly what I do, you just establish that you are both interested in each other, agree on a time and a place, and that's it." He shrugs. There really isn't much to it, despite what some teenagers think. "For people you intend to keep around, you have to talk a lot more and build trust first, but normally it just happens naturally. Mind you, I'm not an expert in those, so take that with a pinch of salt." He tilts his head and watches the kid. "Why do you ask?"

Tony ducks his head and shrugs one shoulder. "Just curious." He prevents more questions by stuffing his face with scrambled eggs.

Loki senses there's more to it than that, but keeps respectfully quiet.

* * *

Later, when they clear the table and take the dishes and mugs to the sink, Tony stops Loki, takes a deep breath, and says, "I don't want to pretend it didn't happen."

His meaning is obvious and unmistakable, and Loki grins at him. "Not even a little?"

Tony shakes his head earnestly. "Not even a little." He gives Loki a tiny smile. "But I don't wanna talk about it."

Loki can definitely do that. He suspects the boy will bring the subject up all by himself, sooner or later.

After breakfast, Loki irons Tony's green shirt while the boy puts his bed sheets in the washing machine. Loki does offer to do it himself, but the boy is having none of it, so he gets stuck with washing Loki's dirty clothes as well. Remembering Tony's original reason for creeping into his bed, Loki says nothing else about the subject. Wet dreams at his age were a hassle, but at Tony's? Pure mortification.

When Loki is done with the shirt and hands it to Tony, the boy thanks him and takes it. Instead of running off to his room to change, he faces away from Loki, takes off the hoodie, puts it between his knees, and gets the shirt on. When he puts the hoodie back on, he looks at Loki out the corner of his eye and smirks.

Loki shakes his head at him fondly, the afterimage of the pale expanse of his naked back still haunting his inner eye. "I guess I should go grade your test now," he says, choosing not to dignify Tony's teasing by speaking about it.

"Or," the boy says, grinning, "you could come outside. It snowed again last night." He points at the window behind Loki.

Loki follows his finger and sees that he is right. "You want to build a snowman?" he asks incredulously.

Tony's grin grows. "C'mon, Pervert, it's Christmas. Live a little." He grabs Loki's hand and tugs him out of the house.

* * *

A snowball hits Loki right in the back of his head, knocking his glasses off. "Time out!" he yells at his backyard, not even sure where Tony is. The kid is surprisingly good at snowball fights. It's not just that he can aim relatively well, but he knows how to hide and lure Loki out into the open, only to throw ten compact missiles of cold death at him. Loki has no idea how the kid makes them so quickly.

Another snowball whizzes by, missing Loki's shoulder by a good foot and slamming into a bush, which shakes the white cargo off its leaves.

"What happened?" Tony says, hopping over a wall of snow — his 'fort'. "Lose your glasses again?"

Loki nods. His fingers are numb as he searches the snow; they'll have to go in soon. Thor will be calling soon and they still have to prepare a sumptuous Christmas dinner for two, so they might as well quit and warm up.

Tony 'helps' him search by crouching next to him and watching. He shakes his head at Loki, a small smile on his face. "You need to get contacts, Pervert."

Pausing briefly to send the boy a look, Loki asks, "So I can ogle you in the shower, you mean?"

The boy laughs, cheeks red despite the cold. "Shut up," he says, good-naturedly punching Loki's shoulder and unbalancing him.

Loki falls on his ass and laughs as well. "What? You've no idea how hard is it so spy on someone when your eye gear keeps fogging up."

Tony pounces on him, dropping him flat onto the snow, and kisses him. "Poor pervert," he croons mock-sadly, two inches away from Loki's mouth. "He can't perv on little boys in the shower. Woe is he." He grins, tongue in cheek.

Grabbing a fistful of snow, Loki stuffs it down the back of the boy's coat, making him yelp.

The boy shakes it off like it's acid; he looks like he's performing a jerky interpretative dance just for Loki. "What was that for?" he squeals, using his hand like a shovel to pick up snow and throw it artlessly at Loki's face.

Loki shields himself with his arms, but too late. He sputters, brushing the cold sludge off his face and neck. Some melts into his hair, chilling him to the skull.

Meanwhile, Tony is making a show of pointing and laughing. "Your _face_!" he shouts between cackles. "Wish I had a camera."

Spotting his glasses, Loki shakes the clumps of snow off them and puts them on. They are streaked with moisture, distorting the world. "Just for that," he says, getting up, "you get to shower second." He makes his way to the house's back door, smirking. Internally, he counts down. '_Three, two, o—_'

"What?" Tony protests, right on cue. "No way." He jumps to his feet and runs after Loki as fast as his short legs will carry him. "That's unfair. You made my clothes wet and I have smaller mass, I'll get cold faster!" He tugs at the waist of Loki's jacket, an urgent _wait, wait_. "I'll die of hypothermia if I have to wait till _you're_ done!"

Loki takes off his glove — it's soaked through, anyway — and ruffles Tony's hair. "Fine, fine, you little drama queen, but only if you're quick." He opens the door and holds it for Tony.

The kid beams at him and gives him a quick hug. "Fastest shower in the world, I swear." He runs in, barely pausing to hang his coat on a kitchen chair.

Loki smiles at him and takes the coat. He hangs it and his own jacket over a radiator and then goes to his room to change out of his wet clothes.

* * *

When Loki comes down the stairs with the beat-up Toshiba under one arm, dressed and ready to start cooking the Christmas dinner while he waits for Thor's call, a Tony-sized missile flies into him and wraps around his waist. His free hand instantly goes to Tony's head and starts petting him. "What's this for?" he asks, smiling at the child's antics.

Still holding him tightly, Tony looks up at him with teary eyes. "You got me presents," he rasps, and then he goes back to burying his face into Loki's sternum. "I can't believe you got me presents," he repeats, the warmth of his breath bleeding through Loki's clothes.

Loki laughs heartily. "Of _course_ I got you presents, silly goose," he says gently, patting Tony's shoulder and smiling at the confused boy, who looks even the younger with his brows knit together like that. "I got you candy for no reason, _why_ wouldn't I give you something for Christmas?"

The boy watches Loki's eyes for any hint of deception, completely disarmed. Apparently finding none, he reaches up to grab the locks of hair on either side of Loki's face, still wet from the shower, and uses them as handholds to pull Loki's head down. Standing on tiptoes, he's just tall enough to brush his mouth lightly against Loki's. His whole body trembles like a leaf.

Endeared, Loki cups the back of Tony's head to steady him and deepens the kiss, scratching the scalp affectionately.

Tony — brave little Tony — open his mouth just enough to tickle Loki's lips with the tip of his tongue, thereby proving that he _is_ a quick study, after all. Not that Loki is in any position to notice; he's too lost is Tony's taste and warmth and scent.

When they part, Tony looks up at him with the most adorable blush Loki's seen on him yet. For a moment — just the span of a breath — he looks dazed. Then his eyes clear and he steps back, dropping his hands and completely cutting off any physical contact with Loki. "Thank you, Pervert!" he beams, his excitement getting the better of him. "What are they?"

'_He hasn't opened them yet?_' Loki marvels. When exactly did Tony discover politeness? It simply doesn't compute. "You can find out by opening them," he says teasingly, wondering when he'll finally convince Tony that he's actually _welcome_ in his home.

Tony snorts and arches an eyebrow at him. "Ohhhh, I see," he drawls, crossing his arms. The slight blush hasn't left his face, but the rest of his composure seems to have recovered. "You a wiseass now, huh?"

Loki winks at him, glad that whatever had been bothering Tony is forgotten for at least now. "The wisdom of my ass was never in question."

His words startle a string of cackles out of Tony. "Funny. Gonna remember that one." He turns away, towards the hallway, and hesitates. He looks back at Loki over his shoulder. "Well, you coming or what?"

* * *

The fire in the hearth is crackling merrily, warming the air pleasantly and casting a golden patina on everything its light touches, even though the room is well lit. Loki and Tony sit down cross-legged next to it, and the boy goes immediately for the bigger present, snatching it out from under the tree.

As he tears it open, Loki wonders what exactly he's doing there. Why did Tony want him along? Has he overcome his shame and doubts so soon, and wants company and reassurance again? A paper ball hits him on the chest, and he comes back to earth.

Tony is arching an eyebrow at him, holding Tesla in one hand. "I'm thirteen, Pervert, not three." His tone is amused, though, not offended.

Loki bristles anyway, as though the boy had just personally attacked him. "Well, excuse me," he drawls, putting a hand on his chest, theatrically wounded. "I thought you might _like_ having the greatest inventor of the modern era in teddy form."

Looking dubiously at the stuffed toy with its little shirt and its little jacket, Tony turns it around in his hands and examines it more closely. Suddenly, he freezes, his eyebrows jumping to his forehead. He stares at Loki, completely dumbfounded. "Hang on, is this supposed to be _Nikola Tesla_?"

Loki nods, grinning at having surprised the boy. "Sure is." He chuckles, leaning back on his hands.

A smile lights up Tony's face, so small he probably doesn't know it's there. "A lot of people say that's my dad, you know? The greatest inventor, I mean," he says, plopping the teddy down in his lap and shaking its paw like he might shake hands with a human. "But I like Tesla better."

"I like Tesla better, too," Loki grins. It seems the boy is happy with the bear, after all, so now he's regretting having bought the drafting tools. Tony probably has a set a million times better than this crappy one at home; hell, he probably has his own computer with 3D modelling software. Loki should have thought this one through better.

Tony's eyes drift over to his other present. "Why did you get me two? I thought you were on a budget." He motions for it, making grabby hands.

'_Is that why he hasn't asked me to buy him treats_?' Loki wonders, as he hands it over, newly amazed at the child's perceptiveness. "I am, but I wasn't sure you'd like the bear." He smiles wryly. "I mean, you're not _three,_ right?"

Snorting, Tony tears the paper off the drafting board. As soon as he sees what it is, he freezes. His eyes go wide, but not in an '_oh my god, it's the thing I've wanted forever' _sort of way. In fact, he looks like he's about to break into cold sweat.

…Just like Loki must have looked that time Frigga couldn't buy him a present for his fourteenth birthday and made Odin get him something. Odin had bought him a _football_, thereby proving to everyone with eyes that he didn't know Loki _at all._ Even Thor had been embarrassed for him.

Loki's smile falls. '_Yup, wrong thing entirely,_' he thinks with dismay. Watching the boy search for words is like watching a train wreck in slow motion, so he hurries to say, "Tony, it's okay if you don't like it, really."

"Um." Tony's eyes flicker to Loki's before darting away. "I didn't want to be rude or anything... I mean, I'm grateful and all." He licks his lips and puts the shrink-wrapped drafting board down. "But I already have a set at home." He slides it an inch towards Loki.

The '_and it's much better' _is left unsaid, for which Loki is eternally grateful. He's already feeling dejected despite himself; unlike Odin, he actually _tried,_ but he still shouldn't have expected the boy to jump up and down in joy over some cheap toy. "It's okay," he repeats softly, taking the present back and holding it against his chest with a defensiveness he can't help. "I should have realized. I guess I just suck at giving presents." He offers the boy a smile that says, _it's_ _water under the bridge_. "If you prefer, I can return it and buy you sweets with the money?"

Tony watches him solemnly for a few heartbeats before shaking his head. "Nah, keep the money." He picks up the bear and hugs it to his chest. "If you try to return Tesla, though, I'll cut you." He sounds like he's not entirely joking.

Well, at least it wasn't a complete loss. Loki will make up for the disappointment by cooking an excellent dinner; that, at least, he can do well. "Tesla stays, then." Stretching his neck, he says, "Well, that ham isn't gonna cook itself," and stands up.

Tony gets to his feet, still clutching the bear in one hand. He hesitates maybe one second before blurting out. "I'm sorry I didn't get you anything!"

Stopping and turning, Loki grins widely. "What are you talking about?" He starts counting on his fingers. "I woke up with _you_ in me bed, got sleepy kisses with tongue, and even got to make you—"

"Shut up, Pervert!" Blushing furiously, Tony throws Tesla Bear at Loki and nails him on the face. "We're still not talking about that!"

Right. Loki smiles sheepishly. "You're right. Sorry." He takes a deep breath and clears his throat. "Shame on you for not getting me anything," he deadpans, tossing Tesla back. He clicks his tongue. "You're a bad guest, Tony."

The boy giggles obligingly.

* * *

While Tony is chopping the vegetables for the casserole, Loki deals with the ham. It's a small one, as it's just the two of them eating and he doesn't want to still be eating this for the next two weeks, but Thor still manages to call in the fifteen minutes that it takes to prepare it.

The Skype call ringtone is annoying as heck.

Tony looks up curiously, tracing the sound back to the computer sitting open on the counter island. "Is that Thor?"

"Yep," Loki replies, rolling his eyes. He sticks his greasy hands under the faucet, washing them quickly before drying them on the dish towel and hurrying to the Toshiba to accept the call. "Merry Christmas, Thor," he greets, tilting the screen until he's in the range of the clip-on webcam.

Tony elbows him aside excitedly. "Hi, Thor!" he yells, beaming at the pixelated picture of Loki's brother. "'Sup!"

The big blond oaf with the four-day beard matches Tony's grin tooth for tooth. "Hello, Hobbit! Merry Christmas!" he booms, the laptop's speakers not doing his volume justice. "Hi to you too, Brother."

Loki just waves at the camera. He points at Tony with one finger and rolls his eyes behind the boy's back in a '_see what I have to deal with?'_ way, making Thor laugh.

Tony kicks his foot and growls warningly, "Stop that, Pervert. I can see you."

The epithet gives Thor pause. His eyes go wide, right before he laughs so hard he slaps the table. "You two, oh fuck," he manages, before dissolving into guffaws again.

'_Well,_' thinks Loki, '_at least he seems to be in a good mood._' He shakes his head fondly before turning to the boy. "Tony, do you mind finishing with the chopping while I talk to my brother?"

"Nope," Tony says, but before he can say anything else or even move, Thor interrupts.

"Now, now, Brother, aren't there laws against child labor?" he chuckles affably. "Why don't _you_ do the cooking while I have a chat with your delightful guest?"

Guessing what that 'chat' will be about, Loki feels his blood run cold. "I don't—"

"Yes, please!" Tony speaks over him, looking intently at the screen. "He had me chopping _onions_," he stage-whispers, glaring at Loki out the corner of his eye. "Save me," he pleads with wide puppy eyes.

Loki throws up his hands in surrender. "Fine!"

"Excellent!" Thor says in Afghanistan, looking very pleased with himself. No doubt the idiot thinks he's _cunning_, or some such nonsense. "Take us to the living room!"

Loki's first instinct is to shout '_NO!'_, but he restrains himself. He knows what Thor wants; hell, Thor himself told him yesterday that he could be calling to speak with Tony alone.

"I want to see the tree," Thor is saying. "Is my brother being cheap again this year?"

"Uh, yeah," Tony says slowly, looking back and forth between Loki and the computer several times. He's a bright kid; he's probably already worked out Thor's ultra-astute plan for interrogating him. "He hauled this crappy plastic tree up from the basement." While he speaks, he unplugs the Toshiba and makes as if to lift it, silently asking Loki if he should.

Heart in his throat, Loki nods at him and mouths, '_Tell him the truth._' What will be, will be. He'll face it like a man.

Tony still looks apprehensive, but he takes the laptop. With a last glance at Loki, he walks out into the living room, close enough that Loki will hear if he shouts, but not be able to eavesdrop.

Loki swallows convulsively and sets to chopping veggies to distract himself.

* * *

By the time he's done with the preparations and everything is simmering merrily away on the stove, even the rice pudding, Loki has cut his fingers three times and burned himself on one of the pots when it unbalanced and he unthinkingly caught it with the edge of his hand. Thankfully the burn is not bad, as the pot was just starting to heat up at the time. He's applying burn salve — after having ran cold water over it for like three whole minutes — when Tony comes in.

"Are you done?" he says, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder in the living room's direction. "Thunder Thighs says he wanna talk to you."

_'Thunder thighs,' _Loki echoes in his head, sputtering. '_You sure have a gift for nicknames_, _Child_.' He trying to bite back a grin so as not to encourage that bad habit, but he can't help the twitching of his lips. "Sure. Can you stir the pots every now and then? Especially the one with the rice, or it will burn."

"Okay," Tony shrugs, looking dubiously at the rice simmering in vanilla and milk. "But I'm not eating… that thing." His nose is wrinkled.

Loki chuckles. "Whatever you say, kiddo. Be right back." He's not sure what worries him more: the impending confrontation with Thor or having Tony supervising the extremely delicate dessert. But none can be avoided. So he takes a deep breath, mutters, "Wish me luck," at no one in particular, and goes to the living room like a man on death row goes to the electric chair.

He finds the Toshiba whirring away on the coffee table and plops down on the couch in front of it, face grim. "What's the verdict?" He can barely hear himself over the rush of his blood in his ears.

"Well," Thor starts solemnly, immediately getting down to business. "I have to say, it's the healthiest relationship you've been in so far."

Loki snorts so hard that the back of his nose hurts. "You don't mean that," he says, smiling hesitantly.

"No, I do," Thor replies, nodding and looking like he can barely believe it himself. "Which speaks volumes about how fucked up you are, little brother." He gives the camera a sad smile.

"Har, har." Shaking his head in amused disbelief, Loki keeps quiet, silently asking Thor to explain himself. Just the fact that Thor isn't demanding he take Tony back _right this second_ is comforting, never mind the smiling.

As Thor always does, he fills the silence by talking more than he normally would. "Tony seems… genuinely happy," he shrugs, resting his face on his fist. "I mean, I never thought you might be good taking care of a plant, let alone a kid—"

"Hey!" Loki complains, scowling. He has perfectly healthy plants, thank you very much.

"—but Tony tells me you even got him a Christmas present." Thor seems pleased. "And it wasn't even a football, right?" He chuckles.

That makes Loki laugh as well. At feels nice, sharing jokes with Thor. Feels normal. "Odin was a jerk," he sighs, smiling. He hasn't exactly forgiven Odin, but he's learned to accept him as part of Frigga's and Thor's lives, as well as part of his past and formative years. "I mean, a _football_. For _me_." He huffs. "And you could tell he tried, because it was autographed by… someone."

Thor guffawed. "I still have it somewhere in the basement. Well," he amends, "_you_ have it, I guess." Then his face grows serious again. "You do realize you can't keep him forever, right?"

Loki's smile washes off his face like a drawing on the beach at high tide. "Yeah, I know." He wraps his arms protectively around his middle. "It's just… so _nice_ having him here. His life at home _sucks_, did he tell you that?"

"Oh, yes he did." Thor looks lost for a second there. "It's the only reason I'm not telling you to put him back where you found him right now." He winkles his nose and shakes his head slowly. "I mean, between living with a father like that neglects and abuses him, and living with a pervert—"

Loki covers his face with his hand and lets out a strangled, "_Thor_!"

"—who buys him teddy bears and tucks him in at night…" Thor trails off, Loki's mortification registering at last. He shrugs helplessly. "What? It's the truth!"

Loki nods, defeated. He parts his fingers to uncover one eye and confesses to his brother, "He crawled half naked into my bed this morning." His face feels hot, but he forces himself to continue. "_He asked to touch my cock_, Thor!" he whispers urgently. "And I—"

"Shhhh!" Thor holds up his hand, palm facing the camera in the universal _STOP!_ gesture. "No details, Brother, please. Besides," he blushes and looks away from the camera, "Tony already told me _everything._" He snorts and presses his lips together. "He's shameless. And really into you, for some reason?"

Loki nods again, this time emphatically. "The brat knows what he wants, Thor, you should see him," he gesticulates wildly, flailing. "He calls all the shots!"

They lapse into a comfortable silence, half in admiration of the kid's sheer chutzpah and half because there's nothing else to say on the matter.

After a few seconds, Thor smiles and rubs the back of his neck. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but… Take care of him, yeah? Use protection."

Loki sputters. "Of _course_ I'm gonna—"

"Uh, Loki?" comes Tony's voice from the kitchen, sounding urgent. "Is the rice-thing supposed to be browning?"

Eyes widening, Loki breathes, "_The riskrem_." He stands up and puts his hand on the laptop's lid. "Sorry, Thor, I'll email you later!"

Thor manages to get out, "No, not the riskrem!" between chuckles before it slams down, cutting off the conversation and putting the Toshiba into hibernation.

Loki runs towards the kitchen, yelling, "_I told you to stir it_!"


	13. Unbecoming

**Chapter Twelve: In which Tony discovers the joys of making out, and gets bolder.**

* * *

At dinner, Tony eats like a starved man, not speaking other than to ask Loki to pass him this or serve him more of that. He favors the vegetable casserole, unexpectedly, asking for three servings and eating all of them with the same gusto. Loki takes his silent devouring as a compliment to his cooking abilities and merely matches him bite to bite.

There was a reason he didn't make them lunch today, after all.

When Loki brings out two generous bowls of Riskrem — a recipe inherited from his mother's Nordic ancestors, also known as his and Thor's favorite part of Christmas — and sets one in front of Tony, the boy eyes the fluffy goodness dubiously.

Holding his spoon over the bowl but making no motion to eat its contents, he arches an eyebrow at Loki. "I can't believe we're having rice for dessert."

Loki hums mysteriously, his eyes glittering. "And now I'm starting to think you let it burn on purpose," he comments casually, scooping a generous amount into his mouth. The sweet, creamy taste and the tangy berry sauce combine perfectly to create pure Elysium on his tongue, and he moans happily around his spoon.

Having to do a second batch from scratch was a pain, but _so_ worth it.

Apparently deciding that no, it's not a prank at his expense, and that yes, Loki's family tradition _does_ involve rice boiled in milk with whipped cream and almonds, Tony gives it a try. He dips his spoon into the bowl and comes out with what may actually be three grains of rice tops. Then, scrunching his eyes shut as if bracing himself for unending pain, he dabs the pitiful amount onto the tip of his tongue. His eyes open instantly; he smacks his lips, looking pleasantly surprised.

Loki, who by the end of this_ production_ is already on his fourth bite, mutters, "_Drama queen_," under his breath and rolls his eyes.

Tony sticks his tongue out at him.

"Put that back inside your head unless you can put it to good use," Loki says warningly.

The boy blushes a nice bright pink, but instead of being inhibited, he raises his spoon and licks it clean in one broad stroke of his tongue, holding Loki's eyes.

Loki stares at him, jaw dropping slightly. His own spoon drops from his senseless hand, landing in the bowl with a clatter.

Smirking, Tony licks his lips free of creamy debris. He knows perfectly well what he just did to Loki's libido, the little _brat_.

With as much gravitas as he can summon, Loki resumes eating even though he can barely taste the Riskrem in the desert that is his mouth. He stares at the boy intensely.

Tony manages to hold Loki's eyes for a few seconds — the tips of his ears turn red — before looking away.

Heart pounding like a thousand racing horses, Loki swallows and wonders what just happened.

* * *

After washing the dishes and putting the leftovers away in the fridge, Loki marks Tony's test in the living room while Tony watches a movie.

The boy lies down on the couch on his side, using Loki's thigh as pillow and hugging Tesla to his chest. He peers up at Loki out the corner of his eyes now and then, possibly gauging how well he did by Loki's facial expressions.

Loki unintentionally sabotages this strategy by smiling and reaching down to stroke his hair whenever he catches Tony looking; he can't help the reaction that has now become the instinctive response to Tony being his cute little self. At some point, when Loki is distracted trying to make out if that number on the page is a nine or a four, he feels a sharp pain in his hand.

When he looks down, he discovers Tony is biting his little finger and looking terribly amused.

"What are you doing?" he asks, chuckling and making no move to remove his hand from the boy's face.

Tony spits the finger out. "Demanding attention," he replies easily, rolling lazily onto his back to look up at Loki more comfortably.

This leaves Loki's hand in the perfect angle to curve along the side of his face. "Really now?" His thumb strokes the child's cheek in wide arches, sometimes brushing his lips.

Closing his eyes, Tony turns into the touch and kisses Loki's palm. "I could also act out, if you prefer?" he murmurs.

Loki laughs. "No, no, this is quite sufficient." He puts the pen, the test, and the notebook he's been using to ensure the first does not poke through the second as he marks down on the coffee table, having to lean over Tony's head to do it. Then he leans back in the cough and sighs contentedly. "I'm all yours. Did you want anything in particular?"

Tony beams and exclaims, "Kisses!" as he sits up suddenly. He turns around till he's on his knees and throws one leg over Loki's, sitting astride him. His hands curl in the sweater over Loki's chest like cat's paws.

So the boy is feeling frisky? Loki can barely believe his luck. Smiling, he puts his hands on Tony's tiny waist and slides a bit forward in his seat. "What sort of kisses?" he purrs, thumbs rubbing circles into Tony's sides.

Tony licks his lips, leaving them gleaming, and his eyes are dark and liquid as he leans forward. Slowly, he settles his mouth against Loki's and kisses him softly, pliant and warm.

Loki lets him lead the kiss, delighted by Tony's initiative. He lets his eyelids fall shut and exhales slowly; his hands rub up and down in inches. When he feels the boy's tongue in a kitten lick against the seam of his lips, he parts them just for him and tastes whipped cream and vanilla on his breath.

Moaning softly, Tony shifts his weight and rises on his knees, making Loki tilt his face up to continue the contact. He makes a sound caught between a sigh and a moan, and his hands teleport from Loki's chest to burying into his hair. Tony cradles Loki's head and guides it into a deeper kiss, their mouths slotting together comfortably.

The child's heart flutters under Loki's fingers like a captive hummingbird, and Loki smiles into the kiss, opening his mouth wider. He flicks at Tony's tongue with his own, enjoying the wet slide but making sure to keep the touch light, not overwhelm the kid. He feels him shiver into his kiss and press closer as if for warmth, and opens his eyes to admire the kid's face from so close.

As if feeling he's being watched, Tony pulls back to look down at Loki, his gaze intense and heavy. He readjusts his grip in Loki's hair, hands making fists, and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him in the manner of someone obsessed.

Loki tries to escape to gather his breath by licking into his mouth and running his tongue over the ridges of his palate, but Tony sucks on it and the plan backfires. Loki is lost; he can only curl his arms around the boy and bring him closer.

They kiss like the tide, ebbing into gentle pecks and nibbles and then flowing into hard presses of their lips and plundering tongues and then back again.

The boy bites too hard and pulls on Loki's hair too often, and sometimes he forgets it's Loki turn to lead and their teeth clack together, and their noses bump when he moves unexpectedly, and he breathes through his mouth. He's a complete amateur and it shows, yet no failure stops him from stealing Loki's air from his very lungs and wrecking him completely.

Afterwards, when their lips are too numb and their mouths taste the same, Tony melts into Loki and pants into the crook of his neck, while Loki rubs his back soothingly and tries to catch his breath.

The coal between Loki's legs is as hard as reinforced concrete and it's only a miracle that the boy isn't sitting right on it. He imagines Tony to be in much of the same state, provided he hasn't come in his pants already from the stimulation alone. He thinks he remembers the boy rutting into his stomach at some point, but isn't sure; the past fifteen minutes are all a blur of hot hands and hotter lips.

He can't remember the last time he made out this long.

A few moments later, Tony's trembling subsides and he draws himself up. His lips are red and glistening, but they're smiling. "Was that making out?" he rasps.

"Mm-hmm," Loki nods, smiling just as softly as Tony. He strokes Tony's cheek with his knuckles — he can't seem to stop touching him — and asks, hoarsely, "Did you like it?"

Tony nods enthusiastically and then stops and blushes scarlet. "I—I think I…" He bites his lip and sits down on Loki's knees, his legs pressing towards each other as if to close. "I, um, I'm gonna go change now, okay?"

Loki's smile widens into a grin. "Don't be embarrassed about it," he murmurs sweetly, dropping his eyes to the wet spot on Tony's jeans. The knowledge that _he_ caused that makes his spine zing with electricity. "It's a physiological process you can't control."

The boy covers his crotch with one hand. "Okay. But it feels really icky, soooo…" He looks at Loki expectantly and rubs the back of his head sheepishly.

Loki drops his hands from Tony's body, letting him go. "It's quite okay. I have to take care of my own problem too," he adds with a wink, because it's only fair that Tony knows what he does to Loki. Said 'problem' somehow became erect down one leg of the pants and is now pressing hot and heavy against his thigh

Tony's eyes zero in on the outline of Loki's cock, and his mouth opens into a sore red little 'o'. He reaches out to touch the concealed erection, checking silently with Loki that said touch is welcome, and lays his warm hand right on it, feeling its solid mass and shape over the fabric of Loki's slacks. Grinning in wonderment, he looks up at Loki with mischief glowing in his eyes. "Should I bring you my underwear to sniff after I change, Pervert?"

Loki sniggers and takes Tony's small hand delicately in his own. He brings it to his mouth and kisses his knuckles like a prince, making the boy blush even harder. "Go get clean, you little rascal."

"Oooh, _rascal_," Tony mocks, standing up. "You gonna call me _scoundrel_ next? Because let me warn you," he points at Loki with a finger like an unsheathed sword, "I had to read Shakespeare for English class, and I know how to use it."

"Oh, really?" Loki drawls, doubtful the boy remembers even a single line that wasn't '_To be or not to be_' or '_Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?_' let alone a good insult.

Sniggering, Tony _bites his thumb _at Loki—

Loki's eyes widen comically.

—and takes off running for the stairs, laughing like a madman.

He's not fast enough to escape the cushion that Loki hurls at his head.

* * *

Loki decides to finish grading Tony's test before going up to his room to masturbate. He might be a sick pervert and sexually attracted to children, but he's a teacher first and foremost, and he's not about to prioritize his cock over Tony's academic peace of mind. Besides, it'd feel just plain wrong to jerk off with Tony in the next room over and able to hear _everything_.

His erection, still hot and hard against his thigh, is proving to be more than a little distracting, though.

Since he has the couch to himself, he amasses a hoard of cushions and packs it tight next to the armrest, before leaning back on it, feet planted on the next seat over, his knees in the air. The tried-and-true position leaves his torso just upright enough that his pen won't stop working thanks to gravity, yet also supports his back perfectly for optimum comfort.

Burrowing into his spot, he brings his pen to the page where the work for the second to last problem is written in Tony's neatest chicken scratch. His cock throbs as he tries to determine if that squiggle is a four or a nine or maybe even a cursive 'y'. He rubs his thighs together, telling it, _'Soon_,' and then takes a deep breath and tries to clear his head. He forces his eyes down to the paper. _'Let's see. He used the mechanical energy route here._' He licks his lips unconsciously and tastes Tony on them. He touches his still-tingling lips gingerly with the pads of two fingers, still barely able to believe what just happened; they are dry, but warm and puffy.

The letters and numbers on the page blur. They might as well be waltzing, for all Loki can focus on reading them.

If he closes his eyes, he can still feel Tony's comfortable weight on his lap, can still feel his bitten fingernails scratching at his scalp and his thin arms curling around his neck, can still feel the boy rocking his hips against him…

Right now, there is nothing less interesting in the world than Tony's test.

But he _must_ finish grading it first.

_'Just this and I can go to my room_,' Loki tells , he puts the pen between his lips and drops his hand to his crotch, spreading his legs so that one is lying on its side on the couch, the other still propped up. He palms the blunt shape of his cock over the fabric of the slacks, eyes fluttering as the warmth bleeds through to his heated skin, momentarily quenching the incessant thirst for touch.

Only after a few moments of this does he feel like he can concentrate again, and he directs his half-lidded gaze back to the test, sucking on the end of the pen as he reads it. He keeps doing that — stroking his length soothingly, only stopping when he needs to write something, and then sticking the pen back in his mouth and rewarding his cock for its patience with a hard massage with the heel of his hand — all through the fourth problem, and it works like a charm.

He's halfway through the fifth when he hears footsteps on the stairs, and immediately takes his hand off his dick. Pen still protruding from his mouth, he turns his head to look over the top of the backrest.

Tony stops by the archway connecting the living room with the stairs, a hand on the wall. His gaze flies to the floor the second he spots Loki watching him. "You're… still here," he observes, his face bright pink.

Loki takes the pen from his lips and smiles. "So I am," he replies, amused by the boy's awkwardness.

Slowly, Tony unglues himself from the wall and approaches the couch. "You jerk off yet?"

"Nope," Loki replies, waving the papers in the air pointedly. "Was grading your test first. Not done."

That gives Tony pause. Eyes widening, he finally meets Loki's gaze. "I was kidding about bringing you my underwear, you know?"

"Yes, I gathered that, you little imp," Loki says. "But I figured I could wait until you knew your grade." He gestures at the spot next to himself with the pen in invitation

Shoulders relaxing slightly, Tony runs and vaults over the couch, dropping heavily onto the indicated spot. He ignores the pointed stare Loki gives him for disrespecting the furniture and looks around nervously. His gaze drops down the 'L' of Loki's spread thighs and to the semi still bulging out the fabric of his slacks, and he immediately looks away, flustered. Clearing his throat, he croaks out, "How did I do?"

Loki's blushing too. He closes his legs so that his knees form a little Berlin wall between Tony and the rest of him. "Uh, I still have like half a problem left to mark, but so far? A plus." There's something uncomfortable about being this aroused in Tony's presence when the boy is not the same state, but if Tony is not going to mention it, neither is he. "Give me a moment to finish, and then I'll go to my room."

"Okay," Tony says a bit too quickly. He grabs the remote, rewinds the movie to where they left off before making out, and then sits back, crossing his arms and bouncing one leg.

Swallowing hard, Loki returns to the test. It takes him a while to get traction on it, as he's hyperaware of Tony. It's not only the movement in his peripheral vision, but Tony's _entire presence_ that is completely distracting. _'Focus_,' he tells himself, drawing in a deep breath. There's only one problem left to go, and that's it; after that, he can finally give his dick the attention it wants. It throbs hotly against his leg, as though sensing what's coming, and Loki absently puts the pen between his teeth and reaches down to readjust it.

"Didn't know my test was such a turn on, Pervert," Tony comments out of the blue.

Loki freezes, his hand lodged between his thighs, and his eyes shoot up to Tony.

The boy is still facing the TV, but the corner of his mouth is curled up in a smirk.

Deciding to fight fire with fire, Loki says throatily, "It's not the test, Tony." Slowly, he relaxes his leg muscles, letting his thigh drop back down and exposing his hard-on, and licks his lips. "I can still taste you, you know?"

Tony's blush intensifies, climbing down his neck and spreading to his ears. "Shut up and finish grading," he mutters, resolutely watching the TV, his lower lip jutting out slightly.

Loki smirks victoriously and drops his eyes back to Tony's tests. He slides the end of the pen over his lips back and forth as he reads, as they are still tingling distractingly. When he reaches the end — '_Therefore m₁/m₂ = 3,_' with a haughty little '_Q. E. D._' scribbled underneath like an artist's signature — and writes the well-deserved _A+_ and a happy face at the top of the first page, he sighs in relief. Melting into the pile of cushions, he lazily sets the notebook with the test on the coffee table. "All done," he announces, stretching his arms. When he looks at the boy, he finds Tony's eyes glued unsubtly to his crotch. "Tony?"

The boy startles, wincing and looking hurriedly away. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbles, blushing.

Blinking a couple times, Loki processing what just happened. He glances down at his lap, where the length of his erection obscenely pressing against his clothes, and then at Tony. "Uh." He doesn't even know where to begin.

The longer Loki stares at the boy's face, the redder it gets. He's sitting hunched over, the lines of his body all tense, like he's bracing for impact.

Still at a loss for words but knowing he has to _say something_, Loki sits up and begins, "Tony—"

"I'm sorry!" the boy blurts out, making fists on his knees. "I know staring is creepy, but I couldn't…" He trails off and bites his lips. He glances at Loki out the corner of his eye. "How do you _do _it? How do you just—" he makes a choked sound and an aborted motion with his hands, "—_sit_ there, when you're—_argh_!" The noises that come out of his throat next resemble those of a dying whale.

_That_ is what's bothering him? That Loki doesn't even feel the need to jerk off? He can't help it — he bursts into cackles.

"It's not funny!" a mortified Tony exclaims as he punches him in the knee. "I came in my pants and—and you're just _there_, cool as a cucumber!"

This makes Loki's laughter turn to guffaws as he rubs the injured spot. He gains control over himself quickly, not wanting to embarrass Tony further, though he has to bite his tongue and press his fist against his lips to achieve it. When he feels like he can maintain a relatively straight face, he smiles at the kid and makes a _come hither_ gesture with one hand. "C'mere."

Tony rolls his eyes and sighs like it physically pains him to move, but he does so nonetheless. "You're gonna make fun of me, aren't you?" he mumbles, scooting into the gap between Loki's legs.

"'Course not," Loki replies, cupping the boy's face and stroking his cheek. "He's the thing: I'm more than twice your age." He shrugs and cards his fingers through Tony's hair, which feels heavenly. "Right now for you, everything is really intense. You can come just from your jeans rubbing against your—"

A growl emerges from the kid's throat.

"—penis,_ and that's okay_," Loki hurries to say, biting back another smile. "But you get less sensitive as you grow older. And also more patient, which helps if you can't just up and jerk off right that moment." Except that's not really true, is it, not when every point of contact between them right now feels like live wires and his skin tingles pleasantly at having the child so near. But he doesn't mention this.

Tony blows a raspberry, which probably means he doesn't like the explanation but can't argue with it. "It's not fair," he complains, his cheeks puffing out. Suddenly, he straightens and tilts his head slightly, and then turns towards Loki with a narrowed, considering eyes. "Say, Pervert."

'_Uh-oh_,' Loki thinks, because that looks spells Trouble with a capital T. "Yes?"

The kid turns more fully towards Loki so that he's slumping against his upright leg. His folded legs slot just under Loki's knee, and he peers up at him with a mischievous glow in his eyes. "Can I kiss you?"

Loki's eyebrows shoot up on his forehead. Kiss Tony? _Right now_? There's nothing he'd love more, but hard as he is already, he's half-afraid he'll scare the boy with his enthusiasm. Oh,_ dear_, what if he starts touching him without permission? Or worse, what if he _can't stop? _He looks at the boy, considering his eager expression, and swallows audibly. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" he rasps, feeling rather hot under the collar.

Tony nods, tilting forward so that his hands are flat on Loki's chest. His hip presses perfectly into Loki's erection, which is rapidly achieving full hardness. "Very sure," he says, his breath fanning over Loki's face. He dips his head, closer and closer—

—Loki meets him halfway, reaching up to gingerly cup the back of his head.

Their lips press together gently, though far from chastely. They stick together as Loki and Tony part and tilt their heads just so, and then slot perfectly in an open-mouthed kiss that makes Loki's heart race.

Unthinkingly, Loki brings up his other arm — he has no cognition of what he'd been planning to do, maybe curl it around Tony to pull him even closer? — and ends up losing his balance. He drops backwards on the mountain of cushions with a soft moan, the boy's warm weight laid on top on him like a blanket, his hips a little furnace where they curve around Loki's thigh and the cock still trapped against it.

In this position, the difference in their sizes is all the more noticeable; Tony's forehead reaches Loki's chin, but only barely. He's stunned at first, then takes advantage of this shamelessly by straining up and kissing the fleshy bit under Loki's jaw.

Loki moans helplessly, shivering in pleasure. "Mmm, that feels good," he murmurs, tilting his head to give the exploring boy more room. He can't help but melt; his neck is his weak spot, and Tony is breathing hot, humid air all over it. His cock throbs in agreement, and he puts his hand on Tony's hip to press him harder down on it with a heated sigh that ruffles Tony's ganache hair.

Tony giggles nervously against his neck — which feels even _better_ — and moves a bit lower down, giving Loki's neck little pecks along the way.

The chasteness of the kisses is probably due to inexperience, but Loki doesn't correct him; he fears he's lose all of Tony's respect if the boy discovers what being kissed open-mouthed on the neck does to him. He just enjoys the kid's inexpert ministrations.

And then Tony makes fists in his sweater and bodily drags himself up along him, a thigh on either side of Loki's, which of course means he's practically sitting on Loki's cock. He climbs his teacher like a felled tree, undulating like a caterpillar until he can bite at Loki's earlobe.

Loki is still struggling to understand _what the hell is going on_, but he can't, not when he can feel Tony's hands clenching and unclenching on his chest, or his hips slowly rocking into Loki's, or the sharp pinpricks of teeth on his ear. He simply grunts and curls his leg — the one that had been upright against the backrest — he curls it around Tony's thigh and presses him closer, turning his head to kiss him on the mouth again.

The kid shivers on top of him but reciprocates with ardor, parting his lips for Loki's tongue like he was implanted with the knowledge of how to kiss before he was even born. His thin chest bellows as he struggles to breathe, prey of the same overwhelming dizziness that has captured Loki in its claws.

Loki loses all notion of time. At some point, the heat in his lower belly reaches critical mass and he tears himself away, turning his head sideways on the… armrest? What happened to the cushions? '_No, no, focus,_' he tells himself as he hauls in the air that Tony keeps stealing from him. "Tony, Tony," he says urgently, sounding utterly wrecked_, _"I need…"

"Mm?" hums the boy — no, the _fiend_, and where has the innocent little boy of Loki's fantasies gone? — as he nuzzles Loki's Adam's apple. "What do you need, Loki?" he asks in a hoarse, ragged voice.

And, _oh_, Loki's name has never sounded so beautiful before; he wants to remember this _forever_. It physically hurts him to say, "I need to stop," but he does it anyway; an almost inaudible croak but it's out there nonetheless.

"What?!" Tony demands, propping himself up on Loki's chest. "What do you mean, 'stop'? Things were just getting good!" He looks thunderously down at him.

Loki licks his lips, wishing he had some water handy because his mouth feels like he could use some hydration. He leans up and pecks the boy on his soft, unresisting lips, and smiles at him. "First of all, if anyone says to stop, we stop. No explanation necessary."

"Yes, yes, the consent thing," Tony grumbles, sounding bored, but he complies anyway. He pushes himself up onto his knees, giving Loki some much needed breathing room. "Did I do something wrong?" he asks, much more subdued.

Laughing heartily, Loki ruffles his hair with shaky hands. "No, not at all." He gets his arms under himself and pushes himself to a sitting position. "Too right, rather." He points down at his lap.

It looks like he has a particularly big sausage stuffed down the leg of his pants. There is a wet spot at the end, where the precum bled through the fabric.

Tony's eyes widen slightly. "Oh," he breathes.

Loki laughs again, half out of nerves and half because shivers are wrecking his body. "What I need right now, I'm not sure you're ready to give."

The kid looks him straight in the eye, his face a mask of awe. "Are you gonna jack off now?"

There's no point in denying it, so Loki nods. "Yeah. As soon as you let me up." He hopes it will be soon, because just the pressure of the pants around his cock is torture right now.

Biting his lip, Tony ponders something. "You know," he says after a few moments, reaching up to play with a lock of Loki's hair and twirling it around his fingers, "you could stay." He grins lopsidedly. "And, well, let me watch?"

Loki's heart stutters. Pictures flash before his eyes of every fantasy involving Tony he's ever had, banking the heat in his gut to a bonfire. He remembers how to breathe. "You… want to watch?"

Tony shrugs like it's no big deal — like he didn't just ask Loki to let him see him at his most vulnerable, his most unbecoming. "Sure. And, well," he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and his next words are almost a whisper, "_andmaybehelpouttoo_?" He looks down at his knees, pressed against Loki's inner thighs, and blushes hard.

It takes maybe a second for Loki to untangle what he just said, and then it's too good to be true. "I'm sorry," he says slowly, "but I just hallucinated you saying you want to make all my dirtiest dreams come true." He chuckles self-deprecatingly. "Could you repeat that?"

The boy punches him in the shoulder, laughing. "You heard me perfectly well!" He grins at Loki, the better part of his embarrassment gone.

Loki cups his face on either side and pulls him into a kiss. "Are you sure about this?" he asks, the tip of his nose stroking alongside Tony's affectionately.

"Sure I'm sure, Pervert." Tony bites at his lips playfully, still sniggering. "I mean, it's only fair." He shrugs and pushes at Loki's shoulders, hinting that maybe he should lie back down. "You got me off this morning, remember?"

Oh, so the ban on talking about it was lifted. Good to know. "It wasn't a loan, you know," Loki says, slowly letting Tony push him back down on the couch. "You don't have to pay me back." His dick throbs like it's imagining what Tony's small hands and unsure touch might feel like, and he shivers with helpless want.

Towering above him, his features half-obscured by the ceiling lamp shining behind his head, Tony smirks and drops his hands to Loki's crotch — or, more precisely, to the button and zipper. "But I want to," he says, undoing the button. "So let me. Please, Pervert? You'll like it."

Loki's gone. He's dying, for sure. He can't breathe. He stares at the white ceiling disbelievingly and inhales shakily. "Yes," he hears himself say over the blood rushing in his ears, "yes, okay."

Tony's nimble fingers flit carefully into the fly of the slacks, grasping the tiny metal tab.

The sound of the zipper being undone is like thunder ripping through the room.


	14. Treasure

**Chapter Thirteen: In which Loki feels better than he has in _years_.**

* * *

Loki watches the ceiling. He doesn't dare to look Tony in the face, scared of what he'll find there. Revulsion? Smugness? Fascination? He wouldn't know how to deal with any of those.

And suddenly, there is a hand in his underpants, brushing past his pubic hair and curving around the base of his cock where it's bent downward to fit down the leg of the slacks. It's warm and tentative, but it soon becomes more confident and its touch firmer, stroking down the length. It curls around the thick shaft and tugs on it, trying to pull it out.

Except it's stuck. Which, _ouch._

"Stop, stop," Loki hisses in pain and quickly puts his hand over Tony's, stopping it.

The boy kneeling between his legs wrenches his hand out and holds it awkwardly in the air, frozen and staring at him in panic. "Did that—what—did I hurt you?" he stammers, looking ready to hyperventilate.

"It's okay, Tony," Loki says, sitting up. He touches the boy's shoulder gently, reinforcing the message that all is well. He's ridiculously reassured by this fuck-up, actually. '_Good to know that the kid didn't suddenly turn into a pornstar.'_ It's a stupid thing to think, but the kid's unexpectedly developing a sex drive that included Loki had pulled the rug from under his feet, and now he can finally look him in the eye again.

Tony still looks scared, watching Loki's face apprehensively. "What… happened?"

"I'm too hard for my cock to bend, I'm afraid," Loki explains, the quivering in his stomach muscles making it sound as though he's laughing. "Your fault, of course," he adds, briefly running a thumb over the kid's white knuckles.

It's a lame joke, but Tony grins anyway and relaxes. "Blaming _me_ for getting so hard from just kissing that you can't even whip your cock out?" he says, biting his lip and shaking his head. "Tsk, tsk, Pervert. Shame on you." His eyes dance with mirth.

Loki can't resist cupping him under the chin and pulling him closer. "Brat," he chuckles against Tony's smile before kissing him chastely. "If you still want to do this, you'll have to help me tug my pants down."

Tony shrugs. "Okay," he says, happily enough. "You wanna stand up or what?"

'_Persistent_,' Loki observes, writing it down in his mental Tony-notebook. He shakes his head and lies back down, only to pause and shove the cushions off the couch before lying down for real. His head is uncomfortable propped up by the armrest. "Straddle my legs," he instructs.

Eager to continue, Tony shifts so his knees are on either side of Loki's and look at him for the next order. It's exactly the same sort of intensity he displays in class when Loki is particularly engaging.

Loki shimmies down the length of the couch like a snake until he can lie his head flat on the cushion, and then raises his hips a little. "Help me?"

Tony does so immediately, tugging the slacks down to mid-thigh. He hesitates a second or two, biting his lips, before pulling Loki's underwear down too so that only the last inch or so of Loki's cock is trapped. Apparently deciding that this is low enough — he probably has no desire to see Loki's skinny fish-belly-white legs— he delicately takes hold of the erection and he pulls it free.

The air in the living room isn't that cold, but Loki can still feel the contrast as he lowers himself back onto the couch cushion. The movement had made his shirt and sweater ride up a couple of inches on his stomach, and the fabric of the upholstery prickles the sensitive skin of his ass and lower back. He feels more naked than he had when Tony asked to see his dick after catching him coming out of the shower — which is saying something, considering he was actually naked that time.

Then again, he didn't have a rampant hard-on at the time.

Blushing, he throws his arm over his eyes, pushing his glasses down over his forehead.

"Oh, come on!" Tony's voice sounds amused. "Don't tell me you're getting shy _now_, Pervert." His weight settles on Loki's thighs, and both of his hands grip Loki's length.

Loki shifts his arm so he can peek at him with one eye from under his elbow. "Look who's talking," he needles back, "the one who clutched the covers to his chest." He sticks his tongue out childishly and lets his arm fall over his head with the discarded glasses. He's lying entirely at Tony's mercy, but now that they've lightened the mood he feels less like a teenager during his first time.

Tony's cheeks go slightly pink — if Loki wants to make him blush red, he'll have to try harder; it appears the kid is building an immunity — and he glares balefully at Loki. "Shut up. _You_ have nothing to be ashamed of, Pervert," he says, pouting slightly, squeezing Loki's cock pointedly. "I mean, you're pretty all over," he glances away, "and your cock is pretty too. It's really big. Mine is _tiny_." Those last words come out in a grumble.

Loki is torn between preening under the compliment — Tony called him _pretty_, oh, his heart could _burst!_ — and being indignant on behalf of Tony's penis. Does the kid think his beautiful little cock is _inadequate_? _That_ is why he's ashamed? He shakes his head, grinning up at the ceiling. '_He's adorable,_' he thinks with a private smile. "I don't know if you understood the concept of hebephilia," he says slowly, reaching down to cover Tony's hand with his own. "But I happen to like undeveloped cocks just fine. Now do something, please." He taps Tony's fingers pointedly.

Giggling, Tony starts pumping the last few inches, his other hand keeping Loki's large erection still. He does the little twirl at the end of the stroke that Loki taught him that very morning, and his warm, calloused fingers feel_ amazing_.

A shiver wracks Loki's body. He lets out a long breath and melts into the couch. Judging that Tony has the situation under control, he drops his hand to the crease between his hip and his thigh.

Alternating between watching Loki's face and his cock, Tony get creative and tries pumping with both hands. "This okay?" he asks, licking his lips unconsciously.

Loki whines and nods desperately. "'S perfect," he assures the precious, precious child. His back arches slightly off the couch, and he bites his lip lewdly. He isn't normally so responsive; he's putting on a bit of a show for Tony's benefit, though he'll never admit it. Meeting Tony's eyes through his lashes, he murmurs throatily, "You—you can go a bit faster, if you want."

Tony grins excitedly. "Awesome." He squirms a bit on Loki's thighs and starts quickening the pace. His hands tighten around Loki's shaft, making the foreskin slide up and down with them, and he keeps watching Loki's face to gauge if he's doing OK. Since Loki doesn't complain, he pumps faster and faster — and faster.

"Whoa, whoa," Loki complains, sitting up reflexively and grabbing the boy's small wrist. "You're not churning butter."

The kid doesn't have the grace to look ashamed; he looks annoyed instead. "But that's how _I_ do it," he retorts defensively, tugging his hand free. "And it feels really good."

And suddenly Loki is picturing the kid, sitting in his chair in the dark and illuminated only by computer screen, lower lip between his teeth to keep quiet as he masturbates furiously to the porn he's watching, his hand a blur, his face pinching as he approaches the edge… He shakes his head. "Thanks for the mental image," he tell him, winking salaciously.

Tony's eyes widen like he's only just realizing what he said. He turns a satisfying burgundy color and whispers, "Can we pretend I didn't say that?"

Loki nods solemnly, biting back a smile. "Only if you give me a kiss." He taps his lips with a finger.

Rolling his eyes, the boy leans into Loki and kisses his mouth sweetly, his hand curling around his shoulder. Then he kisses him again, this time longer, and only then does he pull back, his lips curved softly. It's evident from the haze in his eyes that he enjoys the kissing thing.

With a sudden burst of affection, Loki puts their foreheads together and ruffles the boy's hair. "Why don't I show you how _I_ like it, mm?"

Tony nods eagerly, licking his lips like he just ate a yummy treat — which, combined with his tiny smile, makes him look about seven years old.

Loki is suddenly hit with just _how young_ Tony is, even though he's been calling him _child_ and _boy_ and _kid_ in his head all this time. Instead of disgusting him as it should, the notion sets his blood on fire, and he pants hotly into the small hollow between their bodies. Nuzzling Tony's cheek, he grabs his cock and starts stroking it. "Touch my balls," he whispers into the boy's ear, brushing his lips amorously over it.

The boy shivers at that, turning his head just enough to look him in the eye with the two bottomless dark wells that are his pupils. His reaches down, and Loki holds his cock out of the way for him to find the testicles more easily. "What do I do?" Tony asks huskily, quivering with energy as he hold them in his warm, warm hand.

Licking his lips, Loki tilts his head to the side and watches his unblemished face. "Roll them between your fingers, stroke them…" He shrugs one shoulder languidly. "Anything you want except pinch them, really." His long hair is tickling his neck; he brushes it out of the way.

Tony's eyes fix themselves on his pulse. He does what Loki said, playing with his balls like they are a novelty stress toy. His nose wrinkles slightly. "This feels really strange," he informs Loki.

Loki chuckles and grins at him. "You can stop if you want," he reminds him, right before swooping down and placing a butterfly kiss on the boy's neck.

The kid shivers and presses his head to his shoulder, protecting the spot from further tickling. "No. I don't wanna stop." He looks down to where Loki's cockhead is pointed right at him, the slit leaking every time Loki pumps on the way up. "What does that taste like?" he asks out of the blue, his face hidden from Loki's sight.

Loki goes still for a few seconds there as he parses what Tony just said, imagining how the boy might go about satisfying his curiosity. The pictures come into his head one after the other—

_the boy on his knees between Loki's legs, warm and relaxed and smiling mischievously as he grabs the base of Loki's cock_

_his other hard pulling back the foreskin as he looks on in curiosity_

_little pink tongue peeking out from between his lips, dipping closer and lapping at the glistening red cockhead carefully_

—and he grows under the collar. Not that he wasn't half-cooking before, but right now he feels like he might die if he doesn't take off his sweater and possibly also his shirt. He buries his face into the boy's shoulder, filling his lungs with his scent; all washing powder and berry sauce and pubescent _boy_.

"Loki?" Tony asks slowly, a cautious hand grazing Loki's shoulder. "Pervert, did I break you?"

Disarmed as he is, there is little Loki can do but nod into the crook of the boy's neck. "Just a bit," he confesses. "My brain went into the gutter, sorry." He's shaking slightly as he pulls back, not entirely composed but not completely wrecked either.

Tony look at him, wide eyed. "You—!" he chokes out, his blush intensifying as he glances down at Loki's cock and then quickly _away_, like he can't stand the sight. It's pretty obvious he worked out what Loki's daydream was about. "I—_no_, okay? Just, no." He shakes his head vehemently.

Loki raises his hands placatingly. "I'm not expecting anything, don't worry." The absolutely horrified rejection stung, but that was just his ego talking, nothing more. "Do you want us to continue?"

Shyly, Tony raises his eyes to Loki's. "Okay," he nods. "But I want to do it. J—jerk you off."

A delicious shiver climbs up Loki's spine. "Have at it," he offers, leaning back and resting his weight on his hands. He watches the boy expectantly, his heart racing.

Tony reaches out hesitantly. His hand hovers over Loki's straining erection, which is standing up from the bush of black hair like a particularly veiny tree trunk. Just when it's about to make contact, though, it stops. "Um," the boy says, swallowing hard.

Wishing there was a polite way of telling him to either get on with it or just let him whack off to his heart's content, Loki blinks at him. "What is it?" he asks as gently as he can.

The boy mumbles something unintelligible under his breath and gestures to Loki.

Loki turns his hear towards him to hear him better, but he still can't make out what is being said. "Sorry, I didn't get that."

Tony's head flies up as he glares at Loki. "Stop—stop _looking_," he bites out, face completely bordeaux, and pushes at Loki's chest. He looks like steam might come out his ears any moment now.

Stage fright, right. Loki bites back a smile at the boy's weapon-grade cuteness and drops down flat onto the couch obligingly. All resisting force ceasing without warning means that the boy overbalances and falls with him, ending up with his burning face planted on Loki's stomach — right under the sternum, which, _ouch._

Tony abdomen is pressing down on Loki's cock and his back is tense like a bowstring. He doesn't move — _can't_ move, he's too overwhelmed. He just stays there in Loki's lap, frozen.

Scared this might be too much for him, Loki gingerly brings up his hands to touch Tony's shoulders.

The boy twitches, hauling in a huge gasp of air. His back curves but his head doesn't rise from Loki's stomach — almost like he's in pain, except that can't be, because he isn't physically hurt._ Except_, except no, wait, he was now just _lying_ on Loki's rampant erection, when he'd only ever dared touch it with hesitant hands before.

'_Shit_,' Loki thinks, hands shaking. And then, in a rush: _'He's so not ready for this,' 'Is it possible to die of awkwardness?_' and, '_Poor child_.' The last sentiment wins, and he decides to stop this before it gets worse. "Tony—"

"_Shut up_."

The boy's voice comes muffled but clear, so Loki shuts up and drops his hands.

Slowly, Tony moves, relaxing and uncurling. He puts his hands on Loki's chest, locks gazes with his worried eyes, and slides up his body until his face is buried in Loki's shoulder and his body is lodged in under Loki's arm, pressed into the backrest. One of his legs is like that as well, buried into the place where seat meets backrest, but the other is still thrown over Loki's, and his crotch is pressing right into Loki's hip—

'_He's hard_,' Loki realizes with a gasp. He knows better than to say it out loud, especially because he's not so sure the boy has realized he's _rocking_ into him, his thigh rubbing deliciously against Loki's cock. He turns and lifts his head at an uncomfortable angle to look at him, look at his profile against Loki's dark green sweater.

His eyes are — or at least the one Loki can see is — clenched shut, and his cheek is still bright red. His hand, fisted in Loki's sweater, loosens and slides down the length of Loki's body. He has to move his leg out of the way and down between Loki's before he can curl his hand around Loki's cock, warm and calloused and not too light and not too tight and just _perfect_.

Loki moans helplessly, his hips twitching of their own accord into the boy's hand. '_The child is a jewel,_' he thinks, turning his head to press his lips to Tony's temple because he can't reach his mouth. His hair smells of apple-scented shampoo and faintly of the oils his scalp naturally secretes, and it's such a good combination that Loki props up his head at that same perfect angle so he can continue inhaling him as Tony pumps his cock.

As Loki starts moaning softly and whimpering, Tony relaxes even more, his hand growing more confident and less tight at the wrist. He settles more comfortably into Loki's side, practically snuggling even as his hips continue their little twitches and thrusts into Loki's, and sighs in pleasure.

In the interests of keeping his sweater and shirt clean, Loki slides them up his stomach so that they are bunched in the vicinity of his ribs. He closes his eyes and moans long and low in his throat, enjoying himself about ten times more than he had the last time he had sex. It's not just the fact that Tony's age is in his range of preference — it's everything. The affection, the easiness, even the ambience. A handjob by a kid in the light of the fireplace.

It would if perfect if it weren't for the friction that's starting to chafe.

But that can be easily remedied. "Tony?" he murmurs into the kid's temple.

"Mm?" Tony hums enquiringly. Apparently, he feels comfortable in his own skin again, because he tilts his head to catch Loki's eyes. His blush has died down to a nice soft pink that has more to do with the fact that he's humping Loki than any embarrassment. "'Sup, Pervert?" he asks, his eyes big and curious.

Loki wants to kiss him on the mouth, but the angle would be too awkward. Instead, he nudges the kid's nose with his and says, "Two things. One, would you like to get your pants down like mine?"

In his surprise, the kid's eyes widen and his hand stops pumping. "Uh…" he manages, blinking. But then he actually considers it, if the narrowing of his eyes and the curling of his lips are anything to go by, and his ears slowly turn pink. "Yeah, I think so," he says slowly, nodding to himself. Then he watches Loki's face warily. "You—"

"Won't touch you or try to peek," Loki finishes for him with a smile, guessing what his qualms are. "Promise. It'll feel better," he adds, to sweeten the pot.

"Okay then!" Tony grins and removes his hand from Loki's genitalia entirely. He pulls his body away from Loki's to fumble at his button and zipper — Loki can feel his hand squirming between them — and then wiggles as he pushes his jeans and underwear down to under his ass. When he returns to his previous position, his little prick presses into Loki's hips like a hot coal. He practically purrs into Loki's chest. "Your skin is so soft," he murmurs appreciatively, his eyes glittering.

Loki finds himself agreeing; Tony's cock and balls, hairless as they are, feel like velvet against his hip. He licks his lips. "Thing number two," he says, reaching down the boy's arm to take his hand and bring it up to their faces. "Lick your hand, please."

Brow knitting, Tony looks at the palm of his hand like he's never seen it before. "Oookay?" He swipes his tongue at the hollow where most of the lines are, and then stares Loki, his expression very eloquently conveying, '_Are you satisfied yet? You have weird fetishes and I'm judging you.'_

Snorting, Loki rolls his eyes and brings up the hand to his face. He gives Tony maybe a whole second to work out what he's about to do, while he gathers spit, and then licks a broad stripe up the palm and fingers, tasting a bitter saltiness that can only be his own precome.

Tony grimaces and wrinkles his nose. "What was _that_ for?" he asks, shaking his hand as if to get rid of the ick.

Loki forces his face not to smile and says, "Substitute for lube," as he takes the boy's hand and puts it back on his cock. "Next time I jerk you off, I'll show you the difference." His eyes are dancing with anticipation.

His words make Tony's eyes widen with the exact same feeling. Licking his lips, the kid resumes stroking Loki's cock. His slick hand glides over the soft skin this time, and he pauses for a second in surprise. Realization hits him, and he lets out a long, "Ohhh," before pumping his hand in earnest. He turns towards Loki, the motion pushing their hips closer together, and nods. "You'd better, Pervert."

They smile at each other like partners in crime, and then Loki lets his head drop down onto the sofa, basically leaning back and enjoying the ride. With his now free hand he strokes his bare stomach and thighs; he's itching to grab Tony's hand and more it how he likes best, but he refrains to keep the kid from mistakenly believing he's fucking up. In fact, he's generous with his noises, groaning, panting, and humming to let the kid know he's enjoying himself.

Apparently encouraged, Tony starts making noises as well, after about half a minute of the rubbing against him. He pauses and clams up when he first whimpers, burying his little face in Loki's armpit, but since Loki doesn't comment on it, he carries on and vocalizes his pleasure now and then.

Actually, his little gasps and whimpers go straight to Loki's cock, and he can't help but thrust up into the boy's hand, timing his hips to the gorgeous, amazing, divine hand.

Tony groans a little louder at that, and his rocking becomes a desperate writhing. Then he hauls in a huge breath and goes completely silent, body trembling and warm against Loki's. His hand on Loki's cock goes still in the general vicinity of the head, twitching tighter as the spot where they are touching skin-to-skin grows wet. When he's done, he lets out all the air he gulped down before, deflating against Loki's chest.

Normally — or what passes as normal with the two of them — Loki would grin, kiss his forehead, and drop everything remotely sexual, but he's too close to orgasm and he hasn't come for a while and also the boy is a precious, precious tease who worked him up to so much he thinks his balls my shrivel and fall off if he doesn't come right this second. So he grins, kisses Tony's forehead, carefully removes Tony's lax hand from his crotch, and takes himself in hand.

With Tony's small, warm body still tucked under his right arm, he has to make do with his left. He doesn't have enough practice and the touch feels stilted and inexperienced, but he just closes his eyes and pretends it's Tony who's doing it — which, yeah, not too much of a stretch, is it, not with Tony still shivering with aftershocks all pressed up against him, right under his nose; not with the way his baby cock is sticking to Loki's skin with his clear jizz.

That does it for Loki. One, two, three pumps and a groan, and he takes _off_, his relieved balls pumping ropes of white all over his stomach. He can feel Tony curling tighter around his body, can feel Tony feeling _him_ shiver and spasm in a beautiful feedback loop. He catches his breath with his cock still in his hand, unable to move even to uncurl his fingers.

He hasn't felt this great in _years._

* * *

They lie like that on the couch for a while, just breathing each other in and relishing the touch of their bare skin. After a while, though, just when Loki starts to wonder if Tony fell asleep, the kid starts squirming and pulling his pants back up around his hips. Loki starts to sit up to give him room, but the boy shoots him an anxious glance and murmurs, "Don't look."

Loki nods and then makes a point of not looking, though he's irrationally tempted to sneak a peek at Tony's penis. Instead, he just smiles a sated, vapid smile — he doesn't think he'll stop smiling for the next two weeks, actually — and stares at the twinkling color lights of the Christmas tree.

When Tony is done arranging his underwear and jeans to his comfort, he helps Loki cover his own shame by pulling up his underwear and covering his crotch. Understanding the message, Loki raises his hips and tugs his slacks up over the mess on his lower stomach, redoing the zipper and button, and Tony moves away to let him work, looking drowsy. His skin inside his pants feels positively _gross_, but he grins and bears it for Tony's sake.

Once everyone is decent, Loki stretches and sits up next to Tony, putting a hand on the small of his back. There are no words to convey what he wants to tell the kid right now; or rather, there are too many. So he settles for saying, "Thanks," in his most casual tone, like Tony just held a door open for Loki and Loki thanked him in passing.

Tony turns his head slightly and flashes him a tiny but fiercely proud smile. "You're welcome," he replies, matching Loki's tone exactly. He swivels his feet at the ankles and then, eyes dancing with mirth, "That was fun."

Loki bites back a smile. "Yes, it was," he agrees, nodding. Understatement of the century, but still true. Then he remembers that he never answered the boy's question, and says, " By the way, since you asked? Precome tastes like absolute crap. Do not recommend," with an absent smile.

Instead of answering, Tony bites his lip and turns to face Loki more fully. "Next time, Pervert, I'm gonna make you cum," he promises, pointing at Loki as if warning him. The effect is ruined, though, by the fat glob of Loki's spunk clinging to the corner of his jaw.

Loki's eyes bug out a little when he discovers it, but he soon regains control over his face and wipes it of surprised hilarity. Deciding that letting the boy know will only freak him out, he takes the kid's pointy chin in his fingers and leans in. Closing his lips around the glob, he sucks it into his mouth in a kiss, and then he whispers into the kid's ear, "I'll hold you to it."

The boy shivers pleasantly and leans into Loki without thinking. "Okay," he mumbles, turning his head to nudge Loki's cheek with his own. "You do that."

Kissing him again, this time for real, Loki adds in the quietest murmur he can manage, "And after you do it, I'll teach you how to leave hickeys." With himself conveniently starring as the practice doll, of course. The skin of his neck is already tingling in anticipation…

"What? _Really?_" Tony exclaims, practically strangling him in a sudden hug. "I can't wait!"

Loki can't wait either.


	15. Conflict resolution

**Chapter Fourteen: In which Loki's decision to let Tony lead everything comes back to bite him.**

* * *

Since it's still too early for bed, Loki leaves the boy watching the movie and goes to take his second shower of the day. He washed his hair earlier that day, so he pins it up in a bun as he goes about his business to keep it from getting wet. After the shower, he takes his soiled clothes and everything in the hamper — he spots Tony's soiled underwear, and it takes him a ridiculous amount of willpower not to take them out to see the stain in all its glory — to the washing machine, programming it to have the laundry ready to hang by morning.

When he's done, he feels so pleasantly sated and _fulfilled_ that he decides to call it a day. And given than his housemate has recently discovered he enjoys being tucked in, Loki goes to the living room to announce he's going to bed.

Tony's head pokes up over the edge of the couch as he hears this. He spots Loki's, blinks, opens his mouth, and freezes in the middle of saying a word.

Loki arches an eyebrow at him, wondering if there's washing powder on his face or something."Tony?" he says slowly. "Do you want me to tuck you in or not?"

The boy's cheeks grow pink and his mouth snaps shut. "Sorry, I just…" He looks around the room and bites his lip. "Yeah, sure," he shrugs and turns the TV off before jumping to his feet.

"Oookay," Loki says slowly, wondering what is going on with Tony. "Go get ready."

Tony approaches him as he walks towards the stairs, pausing in front of him. He looks up at Loki, eyes glittering. "You look real pretty with your hair up like that." He regales Loki with a soft little smile.

Loki startles and takes a hand to the back of his head, only to discover that he indeed forgot to let his hair back down after the shower. He might be blushing when he thanks Tony for the compliment, or maybe it's the warmth of the room. They smile at each other a moment or two, until Loki gives in and ruffles the boy's hair.

Tony pulls away and mock-glares at him through narrowed eyes, before playfully sticking his tongue out and running up the stairs two at a time.

Shaking his head slowly, Loki puts out the fireplace and turns off the Christmas tree's lights. He goes upstairs to brush his teeth in case there will be kissing — there is a slim chance and he's going to bet on it — and then approaches Tony's door. It's ajar in obvious invitation, but Loki still knocks on the frame to announce himself.

The boy is already in bed. "Come in, Pervert," he says, folding his arms over the bedcovers and baring the top of his chest. He's wearing the sleeping shirt Loki lent him; he's obviously learned not to try risky stunts.

Loki does, approaching the bed as casually as he can. He has butterflies in his stomach — though, at his age, they feel more like pterodactyls — and he can't recall the last time he was this nervous with anticipation of what Tony might let him do this time. He chastises himself for feeling like this because there's no need for it; even in the worst case scenario he'll get to kiss Tony's cheek, which was more than he could ever have hoped two weeks ago.

Tony scoots to the side immediately to make room for him, grinning.

Grinning back, Loki sits down. He peers at Tony curiously, drying his hands on his thighs. "How far do you want to go tonight?" he asks bluntly.

The boy's grin widens even as he shakes his head. "Not far at all." He gazes shadily to both sides, as if debating with himself whether or not to tell Loki whatever he's ruminating. Then he smiles sheepishly and wiggles his feet. "I just want you to scratch my back."

Loki closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly, as if resigned, but his little smile betrays his affection for the brat. "Oh, I see," he says, "I'm your slave now, aren't I? Turn around." He gets up so he can sneak one hand under the covers and then sits back down.

"Yep," Tony giggles as he turns onto his stomach, facing away from Loki. "Next thing you know, you'll be hand-feeding me grapes." His back is warm and soft and twists a bit into Loki's scratching to put the right spot under Loki's fingers. "And, and," he yawns, "fanning me with palm leaves."

Chuckling, Loki traces the boy's shoulder blades and feels him tremble adorably as he relaxes into the mattress. He hums pensively, picturing Tony's scenario in his head. Nothing but pampering Tony for the rest of his life — it sounds surprisingly pleasant. "I suppose you're a prince in this little world of yours?" he asks, running his nails gently over the bumps of Tony's spine.

"Mm-hmm," Tony groans sleepily. "I'll have a throne 'n' a crown 'n' ev'ryth'n'." He smiles and exhales long and hard, snuggling into his pillow. He slurs something unintelligible, and the only words Loki can catch are, "…statues of me."

Loki privately thinks that Tony would hate that. He has met several princes thanks to Frigga's parties and dinners, and all they ever seemed to want was to get away from overbearing protocol instructors, cameras, people who treated them like they were made of crystal, and being in the public eye. But doesn't want to start a philosophical discussion when his interlocutor is halfway to La La Land and was probably joking anyway. In the most soothing murmur he can manage, "Then I'll make sure to get you the best grapes, my precious Pharaoh."

There is no response from Tony except for breathing that sounds like the start of soft snoring. Even his hand lies relaxed, next to his face.

'_He must have been exhausted,_' Loki thinks fondly, treating himself to a few more scratches before pulling away. He tugs the covers over Tony's arm and shoulders, tucks them in around his body, and kisses his hair before going to bed as well.

He also falls asleep about three thoughts after his head hits the pillow.

* * *

The next day, Loki wakes up early-ish — though not as early as he would have liked, considering it's Monday — and the first thing he does is go brush his teeth. He's surprised to find Tony in the bathroom doing exactly that, looking like he just rolled out of bed. Saying nothing (because he has nothing to say and the silence isn't uncomfortable), Loki grabs his toothbrush.

Switching his brush to the left hand and carrying on brushing without missing a beat, Tony silently holds up the toothpaste — much like a gentleman might hold up a lighter when offering to light someone else's cigarette. He's bleary-eyed, his rumpled sleeping shirt is falling off one shoulder, and his hair is sticking out in improbable directions, but apparently he's still awake enough for good manners.

Thinking he could learn something from the kid after all, Loki lets him portion out some paste onto his brush and then sticks it into his mouth. After a moment, he can't deal with his burning curiosity, so he asks, "You're ambidextrous?" with the brush still in his mouth.

The kid shrugs. "I get bored easily." Foam trickles out from the side of his lips after he speaks, and he spits it out and rinses, sloshing the water loudly in his mouth.

Meanwhile, Loki remembers how to brush his teeth and resumes slowly, peering at the kid out the corner of his eye. If he caught Tony's meaning right, then the kid just said he gets so bored that he kills time by training himself to use his non-dominant hand — which, frankly, _wow._ "Can you write, too?" he asks, impressed.

Tony pauses and looks up at Loki with his huge tea-colored eyes. "I can write with both hands at the same time," he says slowly, like he's not sure that's worthy of remark.

Loki goes from impressed to stunned, almost dropping his toothbrush. "That…" he trails off, wordless. He blinks a couple times and takes a breath that burns his nose with its mintiness. "That must be hard," he finishes, resting his hand on the back of Tony's neck.

"Not really," Tony shrugs, pressing closer to Loki. "Learning to play the piano was harder." He bumps Loki's leg with his hip playfully.

"Oh, you play the piano, too?" Loki enquires, but it's just a distraction. He waits until the kid is about to answer and returns the hip-check, laughing so hard he nearly swallows the toothpaste.

Tony narrows his eyes. "Yeah," he says casually, rinsing his toothbrush. "Maria made me learn. She plays violin, and we do—" he rams his hips into Loki's.

Loki sees the retaliation coming and braces himself, pushing against the boy.

"—_duets, sometime,_" Tony finishes, his voice coming out strained as he grips the sink, trying to use that as leverage to topple Loki. After a few moments of struggling — in which Loki gleefully never stops pushing back — he resigns himself and stops. "Ugh," he groans, "this is abuse of size." He pokes Loki in the small of his back. "Two words, Pervert: Geneva convention."

That is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Loki laughs so hard he almost snorts toothpaste out his nose. "That's for prisoners of war, Brat," he says later, breathless. Oh, his ribs hurt. "Besides, what you going to do, report me?" he adds thickly through a mouthful of runny foam. He turns on the water to rinse his face.

Tony rubs his chin like he's actually considering it, but then spots Loki watching him in the mirror and sticks his tongue out at him.

Loki watches him impassively, brushing his teeth.

Finally, Tony rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, angling his body slightly away. "Fine!" he says, making a sweeping hand motion as if brushing the subject off the table and sticking his nose in the air. "You win!"

Laughing silently, Loki spits out the foam. He brushes his tongue to scrape off that ugly white layer of bacteria, going carefully so as not to trigger his gag reflex.

As he is distracted, Tony bumps him with his hip, hard, and then springs until he's out of Loki's reach.

Loki raises an eyebrow, spits out the remnants of the foam, and brandishes his toothbrush like a sword. "Just for that, I won't make bacon today."

Tony's face falls. "What?!" he demands, incredulous, as though Loki just grounded him. "Ugh, that's unfair!"

"Unfair," Loki tells him patiently, "is crying uncle and then carrying on the fight when the other party is unaware."

They glare at each other, both trying not to laugh.

And then Loki runs his thumb over the bristles of his brush, sprinkling Tony with minty liquid. He would call it _unsanitary_ too, except they had already exchanged oral bacteria very thoroughly just yesterday.

The boy ducks for cover, yelling, "Yuck!" He spies Loki from behind the doorframe through narrowed eyes, and then blinks. "Aha! Wait!" He points triumphantly at Loki. "You can't punish me twice for the same offense. It's the law. And that means…" he grins mischievously, "…that I get bacon!"

Snorting, Loki shakes his head. What a child. 'Precocious' falls short. "Fine," he concedes amicably. "You get bacon."

Tony pumps his fist, hissing, "Yessss, bacon!" He disappears down the hallway into his bedroom, his voice fading. "Food of the gods! Breakfast of champions…!"

Loki presses the palm of his hand over his mouth and blinks slowly at the empty doorway, not sure whether to laugh or despair.

* * *

Tony disappears upstairs after breakfast, leaving Loki with the cleanup.

Loki, of course, does not wash the pan he'd used to fry the bacon, vindictively deciding it was the kid's fault it needed washing in the first place, and therefore Tony should do it. Instead, he gets the wet clothes out of the washing machine and hangs everything on the drying rack.

The repetitive movements make for great mediation, and he finds his thoughts drifting, as has become the norm lately, to his young housemate. Does the boy regret what happened yesterday evening? Loki can find no other explanation for the way Tony's been avoiding initiating anything remotely sexual with him. Sighing, he spreads Tony's underwear in front of his face and checks that all the semen was washed away — a habit he'd developed when he started doing his own laundry to hide his nightly emissions from the maid, Fulla, and from his mother.

His mother.

Wait.

Loki's blood runs cold. There's been something niggling in the back of his mind since yesterday and he only just now managed to put his finger on it: he got _so_ fucking caught up with Tony and Thor and cooking that he _forgot to send holiday greetings to his own mother._

Aghast, he hurries through hanging the rest of the laundry — practically stuffing the tails of the clothes through the wires, not even bothering to extend them fully — even though he knows he'll pay for his hastiness when he has to iron them, and shoves the rack next to the radiator. Then, he's off running up the stairs and into his study, where he snaps his laptop open so hard he hears the hinges creak and then drums his fingers impatiently as he waits for it to turn on.

It takes forever, as usual. Normally he just presses the 'on' button and goes brew himself a nice cup of tea, but right now he can't stop thinking about just how much he sucks as a son. He's sure Thor called her and Odin, or Skyped, or _something,_ even from Afghanistan, which makes him feel even worse.

When the Toshiba finally finishes loading Windows — and deafens him with the start-up sound in the process — he attacks Thunderbird with nervous clicks until it opens, and then composes an email for Frigga. He discards three drafts before he finally hits the appropriately apologetic-yet-festive tone, making vague excuses as to why he took so long to write and generally sending her all his love. He's feeling so sorry that he actually tells her to say 'Hi' to Odin in the postscript, when he normally ignores his existence entirely.

Just for good measure, he makes a mushy Christmas e-card at some free website and attaches the link before pressing 'send'.

Then he leans back in the chair and wipes his brow with his wrist. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. He laughs weakly, still hardly believing he forgot to say Merry Christmas to Frigga. Just last year, he and Thor had actually phoned her to Paris the second they woke up — or rather, the second Thor had jumped on Loki's bed with a huge smile and a phone in his hand, like he was five instead of thirty-two.

Loki frowns slightly. '_That reminds me_,' he thinks, sitting up, '_Tony hasn't called home either._' While he fully supports Tony emotionally disowning his father, the kid _is_ only thirteen, and thus economically dependent on him. Sure, he's smart enough to get a full scholarship in whatever university he chooses, but he still needs a place to come back to during summers, financial support for other pursuits, health insurance, the works.

He's on his feet before he knows it.

* * *

"Oh, I already called," Tony says, waving his hand dismissively. "Jarvis said I could stay here." His eyes are just a tiny bit white around the edges, and he won't quite meets Loki's gaze.

They are in the doorway to his room now, the kid having stood up to meet him there the second Loki knocked on his door.

Loki arches an eyebrow. "Really." He's not believing it for a second. For starters, he'd barely even managed to get out, '_Do you want to phone—?'_ before Tony interrupted him and started volunteering information.

"Mm-hmm." The boy nods earnestly, and wasn't he supposed to be a better liar than this?

Loki shakes his head and sighs. "That's interesting, you see," he says, crossing his arms. "Because I was actually going to ask if you wanted to phone _Howard_ to say Merry Christmas."

Tony's entire face wrinkles in confusion and he actually takes half a step back, like Loki just asked him if he'd prefer ketchup or mayo on his banana split. He opens his mouth, closes it, blinks at least five times, and finally asks, "_Why_ would I want to talk to Howard?"

"Because it would be a bit worrying if you didn't?" Loki offers without much hope. "Remember, Brat, you're supposed to be at a friend's house. That means calling your family for Christmas."

Tony's still gaping at him, scrunching his nose and blinking slowly, his face conveying exactly how highly he thinks of Loki in that magical way only teenagers can manage.

Why did he expect any sort of long-term thinking from a thirteen-year-old, again? Loki huffs. "Forget it." He's ready to drop the subject, anyway; he's a lot more interested in why Tony lied about speaking with Jarvis. "What was Jarvis doing when you called?"

The boy's eyebrows rise in honest surprise. A little, "Uh," falls from his parted lips unbidden, and then he averts his eyes. "Uh, he was, uh," he swallows audibly, "talking with the gardener." Loki barely has time to think, 'Gardener?_ In the middle of winter?_' before Tony pulls back into himself as quickly as a turtle withdrawing into a shell, apparently realizing the same thing himself. He ducks his head, shoulders up to his jawline, and his hands twitch into fists momentarily. He says nothing.

Loki watches him for a second or two before uncrossing his arms and taking a step towards the boy. "Tony—"

"Get out of my room!" Tony demands suddenly, tensing even more.

Raising his hands placatingly, Loki takes a step back. "Tony, you have to call him and let him know—"

"He'll take me away!" The kid's voice breaks at the last word. He shakes his head. "I don't want to go," he whispers, his lower lip trembling.

He sounds so pathetic that Loki feels a visceral need to gather him into a hug and tell him everything will be okay. But it won't. It won't be okay. This is not something they can make go away by ignoring it. "Jarvis worries about you," he reminds him as kindly and soothingly as he can, not moving closer just yet. "He'll want to know you're safe."

Tony looks up, meeting his eyes accusingly. "You just want me gone, don't you?" he says, softly at first but gaining in volume and hardness at the end. He's tearing up, looking betrayed. "You—you got what you wanted yesterday, didn't you, and now you want to get rid of me!"

A pale "What?" escapes Loki before he's finished processing _that_. Tony's word opens their maw inside Loki's stomach like he's got his heart on a noose and it's about to be sent swinging.

He had just been giving Tony the space he thought the kid needed. He'd been letting the boy initiate _everything_ so far, and when Tony didn't ask for kisses last night or this morning, Loki had just assumed he didn't want any. He had never considered the possibility that Tony might feel unsure or—or worse, _used_. And that's not taking into account that Tony is apparently in love—no, not _in love_. 'Crushing'. That's safer. Tony is crushing on him like the world might end tomorrow, and he feels like Loki's only been putting up with him to indulge his kinks and, now that he has, wants to get him out of his hair.

Loki inhales sharply — almost a sob — and shakes his head mutely. "No, Sweetheart, it's not like that," he says honestly, dropping his shoulders, holding his hands open and apart. "The last thing I want is for you to go back."

Tony shakes his head. "You're lying," he rasps, sounding like he, too, is about to cry. "You keep—you keep telling me to call home." His lower lip trembles; he's trying to keep his face as straight as possible, but he just can't. "I'm bothering you, and the only reason you—you put up with it is because I'm letting you touch me!"

Loki forgets how to breathe. Is that what Tony really thinks of him? How…? _How_ did he arrive at _that_?! It even contradicts his previous assertion that Loki had _already _got what he wanted! Loki needs to break the kid out of his circle of jumping to conclusions, so he starts by raising his hand sharply in a warning _stop!_ gesture.

Maybe it's thanks to years of being trained to respond to that same gesture at school, or maybe it's an innate human thing, but Tony shuts up and watches him with pained eyes and more vulnerability than Loki knows what to do with.

"First of all," Loki starts, because the accusation is still making his stomach churn like he ingested something particularly vile, "the first thing you did when you got here was jump on my bed with your shoes on. Remember?"

Tony stares at the floor, lips pressing together. He nods exactly once. "Yeah."

"And you threw more tantrums than a toddler," Loki continues in his soothing voice. Not vindictively; he's proving a point, not trying to make the boy feel worse. "And yet, I kept you."

The boy twitches. "Yeah, because you—"

"Second of all," Loki interrupts, holding one finger up, before Tony's thoughts can start snowballing again.

Tony shuts up, but he doesn't look too happy about it.

Loki waits a moment to make sure he won't speak and then tries again. "Second of all," he repeats, "I'm in no fit state to have this conversation." It's true: his hands are shaking slightly and his heart is racing with adrenaline. "I think we both need to calm down first. So I'm going to go down to the kitchen and brew myself some tea, and you can join me if you want when you're feeling better." He offers a weak smile, silently asking for Tony's opinion.

The boy wipes roughly at his cheek and nods. "Okay."

Nodding, Loki retreats slowly.

* * *

Loki has just finished squeezing the last drops out of the teabag when Tony slinks into the kitchen. He grins at the boy as he tosses it into the trashcan. "Hi there," he says tentatively, getting the sugar. "Pass me the milk?"

The kid looks at him through his lashes before turning towards the fridge. He sets the carton down on the counter rather than hold it out for Loki, avoiding his gaze the whole time.

Watching him, Loki takes it and pours some milk into his mug. "Thanks."

Tony shrugs. Saying nothing, he leans against the wall and watches Loki stir sugar into his tea. After a few seconds, he bits his lip and asks, "Can I have some hot chocolate?"

Of course. Loki should have offered some from the get go. How remiss of him. "Yes, yes, by all means." He immediately abandons his tea to fix the hot chocolate, making sure to add extra marshmallows.

Hot beverages in hand, they go to the living room and sit on the couches, though the kid is tense and closed off, hiding his face behind a mug that's almost too big for him.

Remembering that this whole mess had started because he hadn't thought to initiate any affectionate touch between them, Loki extends his hand along the backrest. He stops short of actually touching him, though, preferring to ask just in case. "Tony, I wish to hug you. May I?"

Tony stops sipping and lifts his head. "Uh, yeah, okay," he says, not making any move to meet Loki halfway or, indeed, even open up his body language.

Loki lets his arm rest over his small shoulders and, when he doesn't complain or tense further, shuffles closer. He settles close enough for their thighs to touch, but not so close they are pressed together. The kid's warmth at his side is reassuring. "I'm sorry. I didn't start anything with you because I was scared of coming off as too intense." And scaring him in the process… "And I fear that, instead of reassuring you, I ended up giving the impression that I'm not interested."

Spying him out the corner of his eyes, Tony sips his drink. It leaves a line of half-dissolved marshmallow on his cupid's bow, and his little pink tongue darts out to lick it clean. "And you are, er, interested, right?" he asks quietly.

Loki snorts softly and carefully tugs Tony closer, cupping the back of his head. "Of course I am, Tony." He strokes the boy's soft hair between his fingers. "But, you know, I'm not _just_ interested. I care about you."

The boy relaxes as if Loki had just poured a bucket of hot water down his back. "Say it again," he says, the words so subdued that they sound like a plea.

Interpreting that to mean something along the lines of, '_please reassure me that you like me for me, and not just because I'm a handsome young teen that falls smack-dab into your preference pool_,' Loki smiles and shakes his head slowly. "I _care_ about you, Brat." He drops his hand from Tony's head, slinging his arm over his shoulders, and leans down to kiss the top of his head. "More than I probably should."

Tony preens despite himself, a faint smile playing on his lips as he turns his head to look at him. "For real?"

"For real," Loki confirms earnestly. "I like having you around. Everything else is bonus." He kisses the boy's forehead.

Almost immediately, Tony tilts his head back and closes his eyes, his lips parting slightly in clear invitation.

Loki takes it and kisses him on the lips. They are sticky with marshmallow sugar and still warm from the hot chocolate, and it feels like home.

When he pulls back, the boy remains with his eyes closed and his lips gently pursed for a moment, dazed, before looking down again and sipping his drink. The skin around the corners of his eyes is crinkled. "You put too much sugar in your tea, Pervert," he comments idly.

Reminded of it, Loki sips his cooling tea, relishing that Tony is once again calling him that. If someone had told him two weeks ago he'd be feeling this way, he would have had them committed. "You're one to talk, Marshmallow Boy," he deadpans, leaning in and stealing another kiss, soft but piping hot from the beverages.

Tony's free hand comes up to Loki's cheek. He opens his mouth to lick at his lips just as Loki taught him to do yesterday and groans quietly when Loki lets him in. He flicks his tongue at the slick underside of Loki's top lip and then captures the bottom one between his teeth.

Loki answers by biting gently at his lips and then trailing the tip of his tongue along the sharp edge of Tony's teeth.

They keep at it for a while, kissing and kissing and kissing some more while awkwardly holding their respective mugs steady. It doesn't go past that, mainly because Loki knows they aren't done talking, but their make-out session leaves him pleasantly warm in the belly.

"So," he says when Tony pulls back, "now comes the part you won't like." He smiles apologetically at the boy, who's still flushed and not quite all there yet. "You _must_ phone home."

Tony begins pouting immediately, though it lasts only the second it takes him to get his face under control. "No, I refuse."

Loki sighs. "Fine, then give me your house number dial and I'll do it."

"No!" Tony shouts, his eyes widening. "That's just as bad! They'll think you kidnapped me." He shakes his head, curling into a ball and resting his forehead on his knees. "Fuck."

Worried that he might spill whatever's left in his mug, Loki makes an executive decision and removes it from his hand, putting both it and his own down on the coffee table. "Tony, please trust me on this," he urges, taking both of Tony's hands in his. "I know you don't want to, and see no good reason at all to do it, but I'm going to pull the I'm-an-adult-and-I-know-better card on you."

Tony huffs and rolls his eyes. "Ugh, I hate it when you adults do that," he grumbles, but he doesn't take his hands back. "I bet you're gonna say '_you'll understand when you're older_' next, aren't you." He looks and sounds pretty much fed up.

So much, in fact, that it makes Loki smile. "Actually, I'm just sparing you the demonstration, but if you want, I'll get pen and paper and prove to you that the pros outweigh the cons." He brushes his thumbs over the backs of the boy's hands, stroking across tendons and blood vessels. "Or you can do it as homework."

Tony makes more noises of complaint but, after a while of Loki just staring at him expectantly, he says, "Yeah, not necessary. I'll do it," and hops to his feet. He takes exactly one step in the direction of the stairs and then pauses. "Uh, Loki?"

"Yes?" Loki replies, guessing the boy is going to ask to use the phone in his study for privacy.

"Are, uh…" the boy trails off, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Is this what adult conversations are like?" He watches Loki shyly from under his lashes.

"No, not at all," Loki chuckles heartily and shakes his head. "They _should_ be, mind you," he tells Tony, holding a finger up. "If you want a talk to be productive instead of just two people screaming at each other, all parts need to be as calm as possible." He quotes what his mother taught him about conflict resolution: "Just a change of scenery and a few minutes to calm down are. Most people never learn the trick."

Tony grunts a little, "Hn," and raises his chin. "I see. They taught you in teacher school, right?"

They had, actually, in the pedagogy classes, back when they'd covered how to deal with difficult students. "Yes," Loki replies honestly, "but I already knew beforehand. My mother taught me when I was a kid."

"Your mom?" Tony parrots, tilting his head slightly.

Loki nods. "Frigga Asadottir. She kept her maiden name." He smiles widely, stupidly proud of her for that fact. "She's ambassador in France right now, but a few years back she was nominated for the Nobel peace prize, because of her work in—"

Tony holds up his hand. "Politics, not interested," he says with finality. "Organic life forms confuse me. Give me tech any day; _that_ I can understand." He watches Loki with dancing eyes, biting back a smile. "You're a momma's boy, aren't you?" he coos in the same voice people use when speaking to babies or small dogs.

"And proud of it." Loki taps his chest with his fist twice and very maturely sticks his tongue out at him. Then he arches an eyebrow at Tony. "Now quit stalling and give that poor butler of yours a call. He must be worried out of his mind."

The boy nods solemnly, taking a deep breath. "Okay." He sighs, resigned. "Can I use the phone—"

"—in my study?" Loki finishes for him, grinning and standing up as well. "Of course. Now," he bodily spins Tony around so that he's facing the stairs and gives him a little push, "shoo!"

Tony stumbles forward, catching himself at the last moment, and shoots at baleful glare at Loki over his shoulder.

Loki rolls his eyes. "I'll make whatever you want for dinner."

Tony's scowl turns into a wide grin and he runs off.

* * *

**AN:** Sorry for the wait, guys! I was writing two entries for the frostiron bang and it took all my concentration Dx I'm currently writing the next chapter of this baby here and I'm at 3k words, so more will be coming soon-ish. Until the Bangs are posted, though, I make no promises as to the regularity of the chapters. To make up for that, I'll avoid leaving you sweet people on cliffhangers. Please bear with me!


	16. The Bulter

**Chapter Fifteen In which Jarvis is about ready to pull his hair out.**

* * *

**_Recap:_**

_The boy nods solemnly, taking a deep breath. "Okay." He sighs, resigned. "Can I use the phone—"_

_"—in my study?" Loki finishes for him, grinning and standing up as well. "Of course. Now," he bodily spins Tony around so that he's facing the stairs and gives him a little push, "shoo!"_

_Tony stumbles forward, catching himself at the last moment, and shoots at baleful glare at Loki over his shoulder._

_Loki rolls his eyes. "I'll make whatever you want for dinner."_

_Tony's scowl turns into a wide grin and he runs off._

* * *

The sound of a door slamming echoes through the house.

Loki is washing one of the mugs when it happens. He drops it in surprise and moves to catch it one split-second too late, and it lands on the other mug still in the sink with the ugly _plink!_ of porcelain on porcelain.

Only luck saves either of them from breaking.

Loki's nerves are not so lucky. He stays frozen for a moment, breathing quickly and trying to calm his heart down, hands still pressed together from where he tried to grab the mug. Then he blinks and turns the water off. '_What the fuck was that?_' he thinks, reaching for the dish towel and drying his hands.

Brow knit, he climbs the stairs and goes to Tony's door. He stops about an inch away from it, one hand on the knob and one flat against the wood. "Tony?" he asks, turning his head to point his ear at the door. "Is everything alright?"

"No." The boy's voice sounds subdued and miserable.

It worries Loki. He turns the doorknob slowly and tries to open the door, but it won't budge. "What happened?" he asks, worried that Tony thought he needed to lock his door.

There is a mumbling on the other side of the door.

Loki can't make it out. "Tony, I didn't hear," he says, already wincing. Teenagers don't like it when the dumb adults ask them to repeat themselves, but he can't really help it, can he? "Could you repeat that?"

"I said," Tony shouts, loud and clear like an alarm, "I _don't wanna talk about it_!"

Loki raises his eyebrows. "Okay." He knows better than to press; Tony is the kind of person who likes to process things in solitude, like Loki, rather than seek someone to listen and help him hammer out a solution, like Thor. "Just yell when you want lunch and I'll bring it up." He's trying to remain calm about the situation, but the locked door unnerves him.

Before Tony can say anything in return, the phone rings.

Tensing up, Loki stands up straight and watches the door of the study with trepidation. With that timing, it can only be one person calling.

"Don't answer it!" Tony's voice comes urgent through the door, followed by the rapid-fire patter of his running feet. Then the door opens violently and his pale face appears in the gap, looking at Loki with wide, pleading eyes. "Don't answer it," he repeats in a whisper.

"I have to," Loki says, unable to tune out the ringing when the phone is so close. He turns towards the study, biting his lip. "It's Mr. Jarvis, isn't it?"

The boy grabs his hand, keeping him there. "Yes." He tugs on Loki's hand feebly and clutches at the sweater around his wrist with his other hand. "He'll take me home."

Heartbroken, Loki forces himself to pay no mind to the urgent ringing in favor of clapping a hand on the side of the child's neck. "You'll have to go back eventually," he reminds him, his fingers digging into Tony's shoulder, not sure if to push him away or keep him there forever.

The boy's hands fall, only to clench into fists at the hem of his shirt. "I know," he says, turning his head slightly towards Loki's grip, like he wants to reassure himself that Loki is still there. "But not yet. Please?"

The phone stops ringing.

Loki tries not to put himself in the butler's place — missing child, worry, hope snatched away, despair as he calls a number that no one answers — and fails miserably. "Let me speak to him at least," he murmurs softly, loosening his grip and turning it into soothing strokes. "We owe him that much."

Tony remains silent and still for a moment, biting his lip and looking down, and then ducks his head in an approximation of a nod.

Feeling sorry for him, Loki curls his other hand into chocolate-brown hair and steps closer, pressing the kid's head to his chest. Speaking honestly, he wouldn't want to go back there either, not when he finally found a place where he's loved and accepted. Or at least he _hopes_ Tony feels loved and accepted; he's been trying his damnedest.

The boy burrows close, his arms coming around Loki's waist, warm and desperate.

Loki lets him have as much reassurance as he needs.

After a moment, Tony takes a deep breath and steps away on his own. It puts him back inside his room. He grabs the edge of the door and hesitates a second, looking down. His cheeks puff out as he considers something. "If he comes to take me back," he says slowly, watching Loki through his eyelashes, his mouth set into a determined line, "he'll have to kick this door down, because I'm sure as Hell not going voluntarily."

Loki tries to bites back a smile and isn't entirely successful. "Fair enough."

Tony nods, as if signing a contract, and closes the door in Loki's face.

* * *

The dial tone sounds several times. By the time someone picks up and says, "Stark Residence," in an old, tired voice, it has been ringing so long that Loki almost drops it.

The speech Loki rehearsed flies out of his ears like a flock of startled doves "Ah! Um, yes," he stammers, trying to recall how it went. "I'm, ah, looking for, uh, Mr. Jarvis. Is he there?" '_As opposed to, say, in the nearest police station_,' he thinks wryly_._

The person on the other side of the line doesn't answer right away.

Loki can feel cold sweat beading on the small of his back.

Then, at long last, a voice says, tense as a tightrope, "He is speaking."

Loki mind goes blank for a second. He hasn't felt like this — like a boy in the principal's office for the first time — in a long, long while. "Um. Good. My name is Loki Olsen," he starts, and it comes off as a question. He suddenly gets a flash of himself, in class, scolding a student (a sneer and "Are you telling me or are you asking?") and vows to be more lenient on his ducklings. "I, erm, teach Tony physics."

Mr. Jarvis lets out a huge huff of air that saturates the speaker for a moment. "Yes, yes, I know who you are. Mr. Stark isn't here right now, but I can take a message…?"

'_Tony didn't even tell Mr. Jarvis where he was staying_.' Loki closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. '_No bacon. No bacon for the next seven years._ ' "No, no," he says, his tone apologetic on the boy's behalf. What a _brat_. "I wanted to speak with you, actually. I—" there is no good way to say this, so he just spits it out, "—have him with me."

There is complete silence on the line.

The butler might be having a heart-attack or he might have dropped the receiver as he ran to get his coat and car keys. Loki has no way to know.

"I, I, I picked him up the Friday before last," he blurts out, making _stop! calm down!_ gestures with his free hand like Mr. Jarvis might see them telepathically. "He'd run away from, from home. And I found him." He grips the curled cable connecting the receiver to the fax machine he inherited from Odin's office after he and Frigga moved to France. "He begged me not to take him back and, uh, he had a black eye. So I didn't."

A sharp intake of breath, all the louder for being right next to Loki's ear. "You _have _him," Mr. Jarvis says, sounding like his knees are about to give out. "Oh, thank the Lord. Thank the Lord," he whispers under his breath. "The maids said he went to stay with a friend, but the young master has made no friends since middle school. Mr. Stark didn't know anything, and then the young master called but he wouldn't give me details…"

Loki smiles. Yes, the old butler was definitely worried. Tony had not given him enough credit. "Tony wants me to tell you he doesn't want to go back just yet," he interrupts. "The black eye, he tells me, was caused by his father, and he still hasn't forgiven him." He's rather hoping that Tony never will, that he will never find himself repeating the patterns Loki had at his age.

"I'd like to speak with him in person, Mr. Olsen," Mr. Jarvis says, cutting his bitter reverie. He speaks in that perfectly polite way that can only come across as insulting.

This, actually, is the part Loki had been looking forward to. "You are, of course, welcome to visit," he says, all courteousness and deference. He gives Mr. Jarvis his address and cellphone number before the man can accept or refuse the invitation, and then has to repeat it because, naturally, the butler doesn't have pen and paper handy.

Mr. Jarvis says he will be there in an hour — _he_, as in, not_ the police,_ implying that he'll give Loki the benefit of the doubt.

Which, really, is all Loki can really ask for.

* * *

When Loki opens the door of the study, he nearly runs into Tony and only avoids the collision at the last second. He arches an eyebrow and puts a hand on his hips. "Thought you were in your room."

Tony's face colors slightly, but being caught listening in doesn't lessen the hardness and determination in his eyes. "What did he say?"

How rude. Loki contemplates walking past him in complete silence for a second, but then takes pity on the boy. He relaxes his shoulders a little — Tony instantly untenses as well —and ruffles the kid's hair. "That he didn't believe my tale, in so many words," he says casually, waving his hand dismissively as he walks out into the hallway. "I gave him the address and invited him over."

Tony's jaw drops a little and it takes him a moment to catch up to reality, by which point Loki has already reached the stairs. He gives himself a little shake and squawks, "In what universe do you live, that _that_ sounded like a good idea?!"

Looking at him over his shoulder, Loki quirks his lips into a mysterious smile, the kind that says _I have something up my sleeve but you aren't cool enough to guess what._ He used to smile that way at Thor and Odin; drove them nuts without fail. "I asked him to bring you some clothes, too," he informs the boy as he begins descending the staircase. "I'd forgotten how quickly teenagers go through pants."

The boy is still too outraged to catch that at first, but then he blushes up to his hairline. "It's not my fault," he complains, following Loki downstairs. "_You're_ the one that keeps making me come in my—" he cuts himself off before he can dig his grave any deeper and stares blankly at the floor, letting air out like a boiling kettle.

Loki chuckles and turns around. He's two steps below the boy, putting his precious face level with Loki's clavicles, though they are far enough that leaning over is uncomfortable. Loki does it anyway, cupping the boy's soft cheek gently to entice him into staying put, and whispers in his ear, "Next time, I'll take them off before I make you come."

Tony lets out a croak — like Loki just punched him in the gut — and gives a full-body shiver, his eyes fluttering closed. He sways towards Loki instinctively, his hand comes up to curl delicately around Loki's elbow. "_Fuck, Pervert,_" he whispers eloquently, apparently having trouble recalling how to work his lungs.

Being able to stop the boy in his tracks with only a few words makes Loki feel like he's the sexiest person on the planet. It shouldn't, because Tony is at that age when even a light breeze gives him a boner, but it's not a rational thing. He kisses Tony's cheek and pulls back, smiling in satisfaction.

Tony licks his lips and looks up at him. His ears and cheeks are still colored soft pink, and his eyes are so dilated they might as well be two bottomless wells. "Was that—flirting?" he asks, one hand coming to rest on his chest like he can physically make his heart return to its normal rhythm.

Loki winks at him. "Nope. That was dirty talk. Which, actually," he pushes Tony's chin up a bit higher, "is kinda like the crass version of flirting." Seeing the boy's parted lips, silently asking for a kiss, he drops a full kiss them — sealing the promise, maybe — before pulling away again. "Let's cool off a bit," he suggests, his timbre still lower than normal. "Mr. Jarvis will be here soon."

Tony's eyes clear immediately as he sobers up. "Okay," he mumbles darkly, wiping at his mouth. "Fine. And stop calling him _Mister_. He's just… He's just Jarvis."

Loki takes that hand, kisses the back of it affectionately, and holds it all the way to the living room. He's not sure it it's reassure himself or to keep Tony from running off and locking himself into his room again.

* * *

While they wait for Mr. Jarvis to arrive, sitting side by side on the living room couch with their knees pressed together, Loki remembers how this whole mess started and decides to revisit Tony's question about flirting.

He turns his head towards the boy and nudges him with his shoulder. "Hey."

Tony has his arms crossed and a bored expression on his face. "What?" he drones, his leg bouncing.

Loki stretches his arm along the backrest and rests his hand close to the kid's hair. "Remember when I first touched you?" he asks lazily, rubbing a lock between thumb and forefinger.

Shoulders hunching, Tony looks away and nods. "What about it?"

"You keep asking what flirting is," Loki answers, pulling his hand away. "Which is ironic, since you flirt with me all the time."

Tony scoffs. "No, I don't." He's sitting with his legs spread as far as they will go and his hips jutting forward, like he's serving his crotch on a platter for Loki.

'Sure_ you don't_.' Loki angles his torso towards him and lays his hand on the boy's thigh, his fingers curling into the V of his legs. "Yes, you do."

Tony throws his leg hard into Loki's, knocking their knees painfully but dislodging the hand. "No, I don't." His chin presses into this chest, and a massive scowl darkens his face. "You're just seeing what you want to see."

Loki lets out a bark of laughter and ruffles Tony's hair. "I'm trying to teach you something, Brat. So shut up and listen." He shakes his head fondly and starts recounting every time Tony did or said something that could be interpreted as showing interest. He talks about personal space and how invading that of a stranger generally reflects aggression or sexual interest, talks about certain comments Tony's made, about the tone of his voice, about how sometimes the boy's eyes dip to Loki's mouth and his body sways towards him.

The boy blushes and looks surprised in turns, like he can't quite believe he's done all the things Loki is listing. He watches Loki with wide, dilated eyes, his mouth half-open like he wanted to say something but forgot what.

"The most obvious thing I can remember," Loki finishes, smiling fondly at him, "is that time you joked about me sniffing your dirty underwear. You joked about a behavior that indicates sexual attraction to you instead of reprimanding it. You see?"

Tony nods slightly, and then keeps nodding absently, like he's too lost in thought to notice he's doing it. "Hmmm," he says at last, looking unfocusedly at some point in the distance. "So it _was_ my fault, after all."

"No!" Loki blurts out immediately, capturing the kid's hand between both of his. This was _not_ where he was going with his little speech there. "You were just being yourself. _I_ was the one who forgot you are too immature to know what you were doing and thought you were welcoming my advances." And yeah, put like that, it makes _him _sound like an idiot, a rapist, or both.

He can't stop sticking his foot in his mouth, can he?

Frowning, Tony takes his hand back. "I'm not immature," he mumbles, turning his face away.

Loki fights the urge to rolls his eyes. Why is Tony being deliberately obtuse? "Yes, you are," he replies, exasperation coloring his voice. He sighs and leans back on the couch. "You sat too close to me and I let you. I bet you thought I was just being friendly."

Tony doesn't respond except to cross his arms over his chest. "'S not my fault I don't know what friendly looks like," he bite out, his lower lip dangerously close to jutting out.

Sounds about right: the kid has no friends that Loki knows of, so it follows that he can't quite distinguish friendly actions from anything else. Actually, giving how wealthy his father is, Loki is willing to bet that most of the friends he's ever made were more interested in using the expensive electronics that no doubt litter Tony's house, or, worse, were only befriending Tony because their parents told them to get close to the son of Howard Stark.

Heart melting, Loki watches him out the corner of his eye. "No, Brat, it's not your fault." He stops there to let it sink in and then finds himself compelled to add, "And it's not your fault that I couldn't keep my hands to myself, either, because, really," he rubs the back of his neck self-consciously, "I should know better than to try to start something with a student, no matter the circumstances."

Tony's arms relax a little as he spies Loki through his lashes. His lips are pursed slyly as he considers him. "No matter how hot the student in question happens to be?" he asks with a satisfied little smirk.

Loki laughs and knocks him on the head playfully. "Brat."

The kid covers the spot with his hands, laughing delightedly.

Grinning, Loki slings an arm around his neck and pulls him across his lap, where he proceeds to tickle the boy mercilessly.

This time it takes Tony only thirty seconds to cry uncle. Loki lets him up instantly, and the kid uses this chance to steal a little kiss; quick, sticky, and completely adorable.

Afterwards, when he's back in his seat, he licks his lips. "You're smiling like an idiot," he tells Loki, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He's wearing quite a stupid smile himself.

Loki bends sideways and nuzzles his soft hair. "Love makes fools of us all, big and little," he murmurs, enjoying the way the silken strands feel against his face.

Tony startles, his head swiveling towards Loki. He mouths, '_Love,_' but nothing comes out, and then looks at Loki with wide, shining eyes and rosy cheeks.

Loki draws in breath and is about to answer when the doorbell rings, ruining the mood.

The boy jumps to his feet and watches the front door with obvious fear. His belly quakes with rapid breathing.

_'It's unfair that the prospect of going home fills him with so much dread,_' Loki thinks. _'No one deserves feeling unsafe at their own house, with their own family_.' He strokes Tony's stomach gently, redirecting his attention. "As I was about to say, dear boy, yes." he says reassuringly, bringing Tony's hand to his lips and kissing it gently like he did before. "Love. Now go hide if you want," he stands up, "I have a guest to welcome."

The worry in Tony's face makes him look far too much like a little boy but, instead of pleading with Loki not to let Mr. Jarvis in, he swallows hard and nods, stepping back to give Loki room to stand. "I'll — be in the kitchen."

Loki nods and pats him on the shoulder comfortingly.

* * *

"Sorry for the delay," Loki says preemptively as he opens the door. He sticks out his hand and adds, "I'm Loki Olsen."

He finds himself face to face with a man about his brother's age, prematurely white around the temples. Mr. Jarvis has the semblance of a bull terrier — solid build, long face, sparse eyebrows, small eyes and a thin mouth slightly too far away from them. Loki can definitely imagine this fellow, dressed in suit pants and a waistcoat, hair slicked back, directing guests and help alike around the house with confidence. And yet, despite all this, the man is now hunched, his brow knit, and he's wringing his gloved hands.

He stops immediately upon seeing Loki, taking the right glove off before shaking Loki's hand in a firm, strong grasp. "Edwin Jarvis." He says nothing else, not even the usual polite nothings people say by reflex upon meeting someone.

Loki guesses — hopes — it's because he doesn't know where to start, and not out of coldness or disinterest. "Come in, please," he invites, angling himself to give the man room to do so. "May I take your coat?" he asks, noticing the lack of any bag or suitcase. So the butler did not bring Tony a change of clothes, after all. Does this mean he came here decided to take the boy back?

Mr. Jarvis enters the house and his face softens immediately. "Yes, yes, of course," he says belatedly, shrugging out of his heavy coat and scarf to reveal — just as Loki pegged him — a three-piece suit underneath. He hands them to Loki and walks further into the room, watching the Christmas tree with its colored lights twinkling merrily away.

Is he judging Loki by the fact that it's a plastic tree? Is he relieved that Loki celebrates Christmas? Loki can't tell. Unnerved by the man's completely unreadable poker face, he uses the relative privacy afforded to him by virtue of facing the coat hanger to take a few deep breaths and try to settle his racing heart. "Would you like something to drink?" he asks solicitously, feeling a bit more in control. "I have tea, coffee, juice—"

"Why don't we get down to business?" Mr. Jarvis says, cutting him off, though not unkindly — or, at least, it doesn't sound like unkindly to Loki; merely businesslike. He looks at the couches and then at Loki, asking permission.

Right. Sitting.

Loki nods and gestures for him to take a seat. He waits until he's settled in to take the armchair, too uneasy to join Tony's butler on the sofa, and sits right on the edge. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he puts them on his knees. "I found Tony at the school after hours, two Fridays ago," he starts. Then he hesitates, wondering if this is the business that Mr. Jarvis was talking about.

The butler looks… professional, in that his face is completely unreadable. "Hmm," is all he says, politely interested. The little finger of his right hand twitches a bit.

Hoping Mr. Jarvis is actually interested in this — as opposed to being interested in finding Tony, throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman carry, and getting him the hell out of Loki's house — Loki continues. He tells the man nearly everything, except with a twist. He leaves out the fact that the boy's fight with his father was precipitated by Loki's own actions, or how reluctant Tony was to talk to him at all at first, and, instead, paints himself as a kind mentor who gently coaxed the sad story from the child and then offered him a safe haven.

'_A little embellishment of the truth makes everyone better predisposed to cooperation,_' his mother would say. Stars know she's done it plenty of times herself, being a natural diplomat as she is. Loki can only hope Tony is listening in and will be smart enough to go with the party line, instead of giving in to the surges of inconvenient honesty some children are often prone to.

"And then Tony told me you'd be returning to duty today," Loki finishes, "and I guessed you'd worry." He regards the man expectantly.

"So you let him call home," Mr. Jarvis concludes, still poker-faced. He's followed Loki's explanation with shrewd eyes, humming noncommittally at the appropriate places and leaving Loki is unsure of whether he's being believed or merely humored.

Loki hopes for the former. "I, ah, had to make him, actually," he clarifies. "He seemed convinced you'd want to take him back right away." He fakes a smile as if to say, _what a silly thing to think, right?_

The man's nearly transparent eyebrows rise about half an inch. "Oh." He blinks, nonplussed. "Is that why he hasn't come to greet me?" His voice is softer now, like he's finally understanding that Loki may not actually be the kidnapper he thought he was.

"That is exactly why," Loki confirms, relaxing slightly. His left foot, which up until that moment had been bouncing an inch up and down, stops. "In fact, when I told him you were coming over, he threatened to lock himself in his room." Thinking of Tony's determined little face, he shakes his head and sighs. "Just last Friday, we had a misunderstanding and he wouldn't open the door even to talk."

Mr. Jarvis's thin lips stretch into a smile, making him look rather kind. "Ah, yes. The young master's black moods," he chuckles, nodding with the weight of personal experience. "He gets them from his father." His face turns somber. "He would hate me for saying this, but he and the elder Mr. Stark are surprisingly similar."

Loki doesn't quite know how to answer that, so he merely hums to acknowledge the words and drums his fingers on his knee. He wants to tell the butler about Howard Stark's lack of care about Tony's problems and his abusive expectations of so-called _manliness_, tell him about how Tony is merely a sweet boy acting out because he needs care and affection, but he has a feeling Mr. Jarvis already knows all about it.

The silence sits between them far longer than either of them is comfortable with.

Just when Loki is about to say something — anything — to break it, Mr. Jarvis speaks, "I would like to see him now." There is no '_if you will allow'_ or '_if you please' _tacked on at the end; it's clearly an order.

Loki's heart trips over and then races to catch up. "Uh," he stammers, blinking, and then his brain engages again. "Yes, of course. Yes." He stands up, pterodactyls clawing at his insides, and gestures towards the kitchen. "Follow me, please."

As he takes the butler to Tony, he wonders if Mr. Jarvis, who's taken care of Tony all his life, will approve of the conditions Loki has him living in. Will he wrinkle his nose at the cheap clothes, the second-hand furniture, and the pre-historic stove? Will he click his tongue when he learns what Loki has been feeding him? He's so nervous.

If Mr. Jarvis doesn't let Tony stay, Loki doesn't know what he'll do.

Shaking his head to clear it, Loki steps into the kitchen and spots the boy sitting on a stool by the island counter, arms folded on the countertop, forehead resting on his wrists; the picture of defeat. "Tony," he says, calling the boy's attention, "you have a visitor."

The boy turns his head so that he can peer at Loki and, seeing Jarvis, widens his eyes and immediately sits up straight. He's paralyzed. "Jarvis," he croaks, full of dread, looking to Loki for reassurance.

Loki nods encouragingly and gestures subtly at the man with his head.

"Um." Tony swallows hard, his throat moving up and down. "Hi?" He raises a hand in an unenthusiastic wave and spins around on his stool to face them, looking ready to bolt.

Mr. Jarvis walks around Loki until he's standing in front of Tony and then, without any warning whatsoever, engulfs the boy in a bear hug.

Tony's hands jump and hover in the air as though he isn't sure whether to push him away, pull him closer, or what is even happening. He meets Loki's eyes pleadingly.

"_Hug him back_," Loki mouths at him, mimicking an embrace and refraining from facepalming.

The boy does as told, putting his arms around his butler's back. Then he presses his face into Mr. Jarvis's shoulder, clutching tight at the man's clothes with his small hands.

Seeing them like this, taking comfort in each other, makes Loki feel warm. He thinks that maybe it won't be so bad if Mr. Jarvis drags Tony home; not now that the man is there. It's just as Tony said: the man truly cares about him.

And then the boy ruins the moment by patting the man's back and saying, "You can let me go now."

Mr. Jarvis releases him and then, after a moment of consideration, slaps the boy upside the head. "Never scare me like that again, young man!" he barks, his voice thick with emotion.

Tony makes a show of rubbing the spot and glaring at his butler. "_Hey! _That's child abuse!" he complains, which earns him two eye-rolls, one from Loki and another from Mr. Jarvis.

Deciding to play mediator, Loki turns to Tony. "Why don't you give Mr. Jarvis here a tour of the house?"

They both turn to him with equal expressions of surprise.

The boy presses his lips together, looks around in consideration, and finally nods. "'Kay." He hops off his stool and grabs the butler's wrist. "My room first! Oh! Jarvis!" he yells animatedly, dragging him along back into the living room. "You _have_ to see what Loki got me for Christmas!"

Bewildered, Mr. Jarvis swivels his head around to blink at Loki, as if saying '_You got him a present?_' But before he can ask anything, he's whisked away by the determined whirlwind that is Tony Stark, who proceeds to show him all over the house.

Tony shows Mr. Jarvis everything, waxing poetic the whole time — all, "_The bed is really comfy," _when the mattress is sagging, or, "_This hoodie is sooo soft,_" when it's actually cheap and coarse, or, "_Loki has so many science fiction books, Jarvis, it's paradise!"_ when the novels are practically falling apart — in a very transparent attempt to make everything seem idyllic. Loki follows discreetly, ready to salvage the situation should Tony mention that he tucks him in, or the scene in the bathroom, or how they spend most of the time lately, but the kid is wise enough not to mention anything untoward.

(Actually, Loki's rather proud of him; the kid is clever, yes, but this? This is _maturity_.)

When the tour is over, Tony deposits Mr. Jarvis in the foyer and smiles hopefully up at him, not unlike a puppy. "So, what do you think? I can stay, right?"

"Young master," Jarvis starts, but the boy continues talking, cutting him off.

"Because if you take me back," Tony says seriously, looking for Loki and taking a step closer to him, "I'll pull a prison break and come back here again." His tone is defiant, but not childishly. In fact, he sounds surprisingly adult.

Loki puts his hand on Tony's shoulder and squeezes warmly, making clear where his support lies to both him and Mr. Jarvis. "He could stay until class resumes," he offers as compromise, wishing to prevent any confrontation.

Tony opens his mouth to say something else, but Loki squeezes his shoulder meaningfully, and he shuts up. Instead, he nods eagerly.

Contrary to Loki's expectations, the butler smiles and nods, conceding defeat. "I see the young master will not be swayed," he says magnanimously. Then the smile washes off his face and he stares hard at Loki with his unyielding small eyes. "You will take care of him."

"Of course," Loki replies, feeling light-headed with hope. Tony is staying? _Tony is staying!_

Mr. Jarvis continues, this time looking down sternly at Tony, no trace of fatherly affection left. "And _you_ will phone home every day."

"Huh?" Tony whines, his eyes narrowing. He groans and moans, making general teenager noises of complaint. The butler looks on, however, seemingly unfazed, and the kid relents with a loud, "_Fine! _But I call whenever I want."

"You'll call every afternoon at five," Mr. Jarvis continues like he didn't hear Tony speak at all. "If, for any reason, you can't make it to five, you'll call beforehand to let me know."

While Loki is trying not to laugh, Tony gapes at his butler and throws up his hands. "Ugh, whatever. Just go." He makes shooing motions with his hands.

Once Mr. Jarvis has his coat and scarf back on, he shakes hands with Loki and leaves.

* * *

The second the door closes after him, Tony grabs Loki's collar and tugs him down, grinning widely. "I'm staying, I'm staying!" he exclaims happily, laughing in relief.

Loki grins right back — he can hardly believe it either — and hoists the kid up by the armpits, spinning him around for one complete turn in celebration.

When he puts him back on the floor, Tony stands on tiptoe, cups a hand behind Loki's neck and pulls him down. "Kiss me," he says, closing his eyes, and Loki does.

Tony's lips taste like smiles.

Then the doorbell rings, and they spring apart and stare at each other like children caught sneaking around the house after bedtime.

Loki clears his throat and asks, "Yes?" without taking his eyes from the boy's. He feels nervous laughter bubbling in his chest and has to fight to keep it down.

"It's me," Mr. Jarvis's voice says through the door.

Tony startles and runs off into the living room, vaulting over the couch and plopping down like he'd been there for the past minute.

Shaking his head, Loki opens the door and greets the butler again. "Was there something else, Mr. Jarvis?"

The man looks bashfully down at the paper bag in his hand, which Loki didn't notice until that moment. "I brought a change of clothes for him, like you asked," he says, offering it up to Loki with a sheepish smile. "You'll excuse me for not giving it over right away. You understand."

Loki does. "Of course. You had to make sure." He takes the proffered bag with careful hands and resists the urge to peer inside to check if the butler packed underwear. "Thank you." He shifts the parcel to one hand and sticks out the other one.

"No, Mr. Olsen," Mr. Jarvis says warmly, shaking his hand warmly, "thank _you_. Take good care of him, please, for me." He steps away.

"I will," Loki promises solemnly, before closing the door and finally getting to look inside the bag.

He'll be giving Tony back in better condition than anyone could hope for; he'll make damn sure of that.


End file.
